Saint Potter?
by Rumour of an Alchemist
Summary: Sophie Theresa Potter. Grandfather/guardian: Seamus Tombs. Parents: James and Selene Potter, deceased, purportedly in a gas-explosion, Hallowe'en 1981 - except it turns out that actually they were killed in a battle with dark wizards, that Sophie is a witch, and that one 'Albus Dumbledore' wants her at his school and isn't likely to take 'no' as an answer. Alternate Universe.
1. A Saintly Prologue?

(Author notes updated, 18th October, 2012, regarding capitalisation)

(Minor revisions and corrections to text of this chapter and those through to 'Welcome to Hogwarts', 18th May, 2014)

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had a couple of sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans) for the purposes of dragging him into this.

Further Note: As of 5th March, 2013, Saint Potter and associated stories will have the same image attached, as a quick visual identifier.

* * *

><p><em>In which witty badinage and more lethal things are exchanged, and Miss Sophie Theresa Potter is technically the last one standing <em>

"So, it's just you and me now, Voldy, and my great-granddaughter. And any reinforcements that either of us have on the way. We _did_ get a telephone call out before you so rudely interrupted us."

The Dark Lord eyed his nemesis warily. The one adult wizard in the house had provided minimal resistance. The muggles had proven rather more… problematic… and seven of the Dark Lord's most loyal followers were either dead or incapacitated. Had the Dark Lord attempted this on his own, it would have turned out to be a suicide mission.

The man the Dark Lord now faced must be close to eighty, but was horribly spry and dangerous for all of that. In the Dark Lord's own youth, before Albus Dumbledore had stolen Tom Riddle away to Hogwarts, this man had been a legend across half of Europe. The icy blue eyes were unflinching in the face of the Dark Lord's stare, and there was nothing but cool resolve and defiance for the Dark Lord's legilimency to find. For a muggle, the man had a remarkably closed mind, and the Dark Lord dared not make the effort to probe deeper and risk missing something the man was physically doing.

"Templar." the Dark Lord acknowledged. He was starting to regret now going after the Potters. But a member of an ancient and noble pure-blood family marrying a muggle was too big a slap in the face for his cause to overlook for long – or at least it was when said pure-blood was _James Potter_. Unfortunately, the muggle James Potter had married had turned out to be Simon Templar's granddaughter, and these muggles could _fight_.

The Dark Lord had a wand pointing at Templar. It was the wand of one of the Lestranges, as he dared not risk his own wand in this dirty fighting. The first Death Eater through the front door had been smashed over the head with a frying pan and his wand bodily grabbed and snapped. The next had had a bullet put in his head. After that the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord had had to become a little more… circumspect… and creative in their approach to this particular house in Godric's Hollow.

A raid by a party of inner circle Death Eaters led by the Dark Lord on a house full of muggles should have been a piece of cake. It had turned into a massacre – for both sides.

"Since you appear to be amenable to witty banter, please convey my regards to the treacherous secret keeper, should you meet with him again." Simon Templar continued. "James, poor bloke, was of course absolutely convinced he could trust the man. Alas, the only good judgement James has apparently ever shown in his life with a big decision was in marrying my granddaughter. Fortunately, on my own side of the family we were inclined to be considerably less trusting, and insisted on additional family support. I'm pleased we were able to present you with a challenge. You know you really should have brought more minions, Voldy, if you didn't want a fair fight."

"My agent in James' camp was under-informed of just _who_ Mrs. Potter's relatives were. We would have razed the house from a safe distance or come with a job offer had we been better informed." the Dark Lord replied.

Templar had a throwing knife in one hand, and some sort of muggle device with a number of buttons on it in the other. Templar clearly had some sort of plan. Whether or not that plan extended beyond mere bluff, the Dark Lord had yet to determine. And it was intriguing, to be conversing with an enemy for once, rather than just _avada kedavra_, dark mark, and move on – plus _this_ man, above all other possible foes, merited a modicum of respect.

"Ah well. Given neither of my sons who've been involved with this carry the glorious name of Templar, perhaps that can be excused." Simon Templar said. "That was their decision so that official busybodies should not busybody them quite so much. And desire to make names for themselves, of course. A job offer might have amused us, but whilst corrupt officials and criminals are fair game, targeting innocents puts you well and truly on the side of the ungodly. Had you confined yourself to more specific targets, we might have applauded…" He shrugged.

The man's composure was unbelievable. He stood here, looking death practically in the face, and was all but laughing at it. A mere muggle, with no horcruxes or get-out-of-death-free cards to play.

The sound of crying from an adjacent room cut through the air.

"Excuse me please." Templar said. "She's asking for attention – _my_ attention, as you and your followers appear to have killed her parents and her great-uncle. Would you mind either buzzing off to find someone else to bother, or getting it over with and attempting to do whatever it is you intend to do?"

The Dark Lord raised his wand, as a knife flashed through the air, and a thumb came firmly down on a button. An explosion rocked the house, and then all that there was to be heard was the sound of an infant crying and the wail of approaching sirens…

* * *

><p>Author Notes:<p>

Because an alternate universe with a confrontation between Lord Voldemort and (even an elderly) Simon Templar was interesting to write... And it looks like it's turning into something longer.

Update (18th October, 2012): Canon capitalises some words (such as 'Devil's Snare' and 'Bludger') but not others (such as 'mandrake' and 'broom'). I'm unclear as to what rules govern this in canon in most circumstances, and unless such words seem to me to be proper nouns, pseudonyms, or to otherwise merit particular emphasis (as with 'Unforegiveable Curses' in the latter case) I will be foregoing such capitalisation.


	2. A Knock at the Door

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had a couple of sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans) for the purposes of dragging him into this.

Further Note: Any characters with canon counterparts may have personalities and take actions at variance with what they would be and do in canon. This is an alternate universe which was impacted by The Saint.

Final Further Note (for now): The viewpoint switches about a bit here. The opening paragraphs are Sophie, then it's her grandfather whilst Severus Snape is in the building, then it's back to Sophie again at the end. Sorry, but I wanted to get in the middle bit with something other than Sophie just listening to the conversation coming through on the speaker...

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><p><em>In which we first see our heroine, there is a knock on the door, and Mr. Snape explains some things about matters magical and issues an invitation to join him at a pub<em>

Miss Sophie Theresa Potter was a blonde-haired blue-eyed girl, who lived with her grandfather, Mr. Seamus Tombs, in an old-fashioned mews in a genteel part of the metropolis that was London. She attended a local middle-school to make friends and to learn what government bureaucrats thought that she ought to be learning, but had a much more interesting time, to be honest, when it came to education outside of school hours, where she actually learned stuff that might be useful such as the basics of fencing and judo, how to pick a lock, or who was of interest without it being an overt offence to contact them in the criminal underworld. Her parents had achieved brief notoriety in the media by being killed in a west-country 'gas explosion' when she was only a baby (which she had somehow survived practically unblemished save for a small interesting shaped scar on her forehead) and from that point forward her grandfather on her mother's side of the family had taken care of her. She had had a highly notorious great-grandfather on that side of her family, too, who had been known the length and breadth of Europe in his day, as a result of which she had of necessity been obliged to develop unusual lines in lying and sarcasm to deal with occasional enquiries which came her way from various busybodies, whether official or members of the great British press corps. It was frankly incredible, in Miss S. T. Potter's opinion, what some people would believe of you just because one of your deceased ancestors happened to have had a (never proven in court) penchant for blackmail, robbery, murder and all sorts of other less or more interesting misdemeanours – all practised upon the less savoury (and frequently outright superfluous) members of society. If she ended up following in his footsteps, then to be frank she considered that they only had themselves to blame for making such a fuss about it. She had no way to know and would not have cared much that, as her eleventh birthday approached, she was a frequent topic of staff-meetings and much argument in the headmaster's office of a particular educational institute located in a remote region of Scotland. If she had known of them she probably would have considered them just another bunch of busybodies trying to decide whether or not they wanted to try and run her life for her or tell her to be something which they wanted her to be. The headmaster and the school caretaker probably represented the extreme ends of the spectrum of opinions.

It was mid-morning of Wednesday the 31st of July, 1991 when, with reason at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a temporary ascendance, the fateful knock came at the door of the London mews at which Miss Potter abode. She glanced out of the window at the security mirror mounted on the house on the opposing side of the street, and made her own assessment.

"Grandfather! There's a man at the door with black hair, and trenchcoat and trousers to match. Doesn't look like a tax official or plain clothes policeman, although he could be a private eye."

Her grandfather grumbled and peeled himself away from composing a witty ditty regarding the latest political affronts to assault his senses in the newspapers. That was one of those things which he claimed he had inherited – or at least learned at the knee – from _his_ father. He peered out of the window, nodded wisely, dropped a firearm of debateable licensed status into his dressing-gown pocket, and proceeded downstairs to discover the intentions of the visitor. During school-holidays her grandfather did not consider it a matter of urgent sartorial elegance to get dressed before midday unless there was some highly pressing need to do so.

* * *

><p>Mr. Seamus Tombs, grey-haired grandfather of Miss Sophie Potter, having arrived downstairs, peered through the spyhole in the front-door to evaluate his visitor from a close-up perspective. At this range, it was possible to determine details such as that the man had a hooked nose, eyes which showed a surprising amount of life despite being black, and a wary expression fixed upon his face. If he was <em>not<em> a private eye, then he looked to be a member of some other profession whose errands required members to simultaneously maintain a high level of watchfulness whilst attracting a minimum of public attention. There was no obvious bulge of a firearm to his trenchcoat, although that did not rule out such possibilities as an armpit holster or a concealed knife.

Mr. Tombs put the door on the chain, then opened it as far as it would go.

"Good morning, sir?" he prompted.

An expression of mild amusement which turned into an appreciative nod crossed the other's face.

"Severus Snape. I am something in the line of a general dogsbody for an institution in Scotland which is interested in making an offer to Miss Sophie Theresa Potter, whose eleventh birthday I gather that it is today. I have been asked to come down and establish contact and enquire if there is any need for further communication? This is the currently known address which the institution in question has for Miss Potter."

"Miss Potter is currently absent, visiting some friends." Mr. Tombs responded, being unwilling to communicate to this mysterious man that his precious granddaughter was on the premises. The man on the doorstep's eyes seemed to be boring into his through the gap between door and jamb and suddenly the visitor narrowed his eyes.

"Mr.…" he began, and then stopped, and his expression completely changed. "Mr. Seamus Tombs?" he positively beamed. "And you're the girl's grandfather?"

Apparently, the man had recognised him through the couple of inches wide gap. Maybe he had contacts amongst the police or underworld.

"No, I'm Bishop Desmond Tutu." Mr. Tombs replied in irritation, although without quite the acidity which he could have achieved if the man on the doorstep hadn't seemed so honestly pleased to see him.

"I was a great admirer of your father and his work." the man on the doorstep continued to gush enthusiastically. "Although I was considerably less athletic than he, I considered him something of a role-model when I was growing up. Merlin knows what would have happened to me if I hadn't had quite such an example. Look: your granddaughter isn't in any trouble – yet – but for a number of reasons I'd rather come inside to discuss this with you. You can keep me covered with a throwing knife or elephant gun or something if you like, to make you feel comfortable, as you certainly don't know me from Adam, and I could be just about anyone."

"I'll take you up on that, I believe." Mr. Tombs considered. The man certainly _seemed_ sincere in his opinions.

Keeping his right hand in his dressing gown pocket, he took the door off the chain, and pulled it fully open, admitting the black-haired man in the trenchcoat.

He turned, carefully, to keep him covered as he entered, and pushed the door shut behind him.

"Go up, and note that I'm a step behind you and covering you all the way." Mr. Tombs directed. "I'll follow you into the living room, where we can sit down and hold this discussion."

* * *

><p>The man seemed to be delighted to be ensconced in the living room of Mr. Seamus Tombs, and kept glancing around, at the old family photos in their frames, and all the weird and wonderful trophies decorating the walls and other items perched on shelves and in cabinets.<p>

Sophie, as procedure required on such occasions when her grandfather hadn't specifically called ahead an 'all clear' signal, was out of sight, and should be in an adjacent room listening in via the concealed microphone which would relay anything said in this room to a speaker/tape recorder arrangement in the other. Mr. Seamus Tombs generally found it prudent to record conversations with visitors to his private residence, in case hard-evidence was needed to support a legal or extra-legal procedure at some later date. That a warning buzzer at the top of the stairs had failed to sound indicated that this visitor did _not_ appear to be wired with any known remote broadcast microphone, which at least guaranteed a certain level of immediate privacy to the conversation to come.

Mr. Tombs meaningfully cleared his throat, and his visitor stopped looking around the room.

"Mr. Tombs. Have you heard of Albus Dumbledore?"

"No." Mr. Tombs shook his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the headmaster of a boarding school for witches and wizards in Scotland. He is also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Convention of Wizards, making him a politically powerful individual. Now, Ministry of Magic records appear to indicate that your granddaughter has inherited magical talents from her father, the late James Potter, and so she is being offered a place at Hogwarts – the school of which the aforementioned Professor Dumbledore is headmaster – as a matter of course. Under normal circumstances she would be free to decline said place, but the situation in your granddaughter's case is somewhat complex given the events surrounding the tragic deaths of her parents. Professor Dumbledore is – I regret to say – likely to make life very difficult for you and your granddaughter if you wish to remain in this country but your granddaughter declines the offered school place. A particularly notorious villain was taken down on the night of Hallowe'en in Godric's Hollow in 1981, and for a variety of political and personal reasons Professor Dumbledore regards it as very important that your granddaughter attends his school. For my own part, I would recommend that even if you go abroad, you consider the possibilities of Hogwarts' counterparts in other countries. Beauxbatons in France and Durmstrang in Scandinavia would both be delighted to take her, I would imagine, and I could research options elsewhere if you wanted to move further afield. You can write to me by the postal system at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland – although I should caution you that our headmaster is not above perusing the contents of mail before it reaches its intended destination."

The man was saying something about an invitation for Sophie and was very slowly and carefully reaching into his pocket and pulling an envelope out, as Mr. Tombs sat there, his mind reeling. The monsters who had cost his family so much already were back, and now one of them wanted his granddaughter, after nearly a decade of relative peace. These weren't regular villains who operated under normal rules – they could materialise out of nowhere, and wipe or alter memories with the twitch of a stick; they could set a building ablaze with a couple of words and a gesture. The visitor had left the envelope there on the table and was getting up, saying polite words preparatory to departing, when something belatedly registered in Mr. Tombs' mind.

"_Wait!_" he beseeched. "You mentioned something about Sophie having 'magical talents'? Is there any way you can prove that to me?"

"Mr. Tombs: your granddaughter would need to be present, but you informed me earlier that she is out visiting friends."

"Ah." Mr. Tombs ran an assessing eye over the man standing there, making up his mind about him. Whilst Severus Snape had a certain _furtive_ air about him, that was not unusual in many of Mr. Tomb's contacts and he seemed to be fundamentally trustworthy. "Sophie! If you would join us, please?"

Sophie came through from the adjacent room. Since he had used a code phrase, she was not armed.

"She's heard what we've been discussing." Mr. Tombs added.

Severus Snape nodded as if this was neither more nor less than he would have expected and ran an appraising eye over Sophie.

"You take after your mother in looks, I assume?" he said, producing one of the dreaded wooden sticks witches and wizards called 'wands' from an inside pocket. It was about a foot long. "This is a basic wand I carry around for demonstration purposes." he said, passing it to Sophie. She narrowed her eyes at it, but accepted it. "If you would give it a wave please?"

She did so, and chaos hit the room.

Sophie exhibited a display of surprise, fright, and awe.

Severus produced another wand, and with a few waves and words restored due order.

"For the purposes of scientific experimentation, and to assure yourself that it is not just the wand doing it, feel free to try the wand I handed Sophie out yourself, Mr, Tombs." Severus invited.

Mr. Tombs took the stick from his granddaughter and waved it. Nothing happened. He passed it back and she waved it again. Chaos hit again, which once more Severus sent into abeyance.

"Well the most _likely_ explanation appears to be that she's the one doing it." Mr. Tombs conceded.

"Excellent. I have a couple more trips to make, but if you wish to see me later today, I shall be stopping by the Leaky Cauldron at about two o' clock this afternoon. This is the address." He put his own wand away, produced a biro and paper from an inner pocket, scribbled something, and put the paper on a coffee table. He put the biro away and retrieved the demonstration wand from Sophie. "Your granddaughter should be able to see the building, Mr. Tombs, since she has magic in her blood, and will be able to lead you in. I can accompany you on a trip to buy her school-supplies this afternoon, if you are both interested in her attending Hogwarts, or discuss the continental options if that tickles your fancy. If you arrive early, you may encounter my wife lunching there, with some of our own little monsters. She has red hair, green eyes, and answers in public to the name of Lily Snape, and there ought to be no question in your mind as to her identity if you are in the same room as her." There was a distinct note of fondness in the man's voice as he spoke of his own family.

"Now, if you would show me to the door, Mr. Tombs, I shall take my leave of you…"

* * *

><p>"What was that about my parents' death, grandfather?" Sophie asked, once Severus Snape was gone and she had briefly popped out to switch off the recording equipment. She was sat next to her grandfather, slowly turning over the unopened Hogwarts invitation in her hands. "And why might that interest these magical people? I thought you said dad was," she furrowed her brow, "a 'minor political activist'. I always assumed that meant he wrote letters to <em>The Times<em>, or attended demonstrations and stuff like that."

"Your father wasn't just a minor political activist, but a wizard from an ancient family with a tradition of magical powers." Mr. Tombs sighed. "Or so he told us later. There's a whole hidden society witches and wizards have, and as I understand it a decade ago they were in the middle of a huge political struggle with copious side-helpings of violence and intimidation. Your father had married my daughter – your mother – without ever really mentioning to me that he was a wizard or that there was a whole magical side to Britain until after the ceremony was over. He said he hadn't wanted to scare us off. Anyway, he married her because she was beautiful, and because he loved her, and she loved him, and that made him a lot of enemies in his own society because she didn't have any magical ability at all, and one gang were a group of supremacists for whom one of the worst crimes imaginable was for a witch or wizard to marry someone without any magical ability at all. Your mother and father were a marked couple after that. Some of their friends tried to help, and my brother and your great-grandfather actually moved in with them a month or two before the end, but it still all ended in catastrophe at the supposed safe-house in Godric's Hollow that your parents and you were living in at the time – that was on Hallowe'en ten years ago. I was staying in a bed and breakfast a short distance from the village at the time as their tactical reserve, and got a phone call early in the evening saying someone was coming before the line went dead. By the time I got there there was nobody left alive in the house but you – a really powerful wizard and several of his minions had attacked them and they'd all killed one another in the fight. I'd just picked you up when reinforcements for your mother and father started arriving. There was a huge man called Hagrid who said something about orders to see the girl was placed with relatives, and he was confused and relieved to find out I was a relative. And there was someone who arrived on a Triumph Bonneville and left at great speed without ever really explaining himself. Then there was a man called Moody, who was a sort of magical policeman, with a wooden leg and a glass eye… It was all a blur after that, and someone told me to go home and take you with me, and they'd do their usual thing of covering it up to non-wizards with a gas explosion story, and they'd try to make sure that nobody from their world bothered you again. It sounded as if the main leader of the supremacist gang had been killed that night, which most of them seemed pretty pleased about, and they hoped that would make it easier to round up the rest of the gang and for you to just disappear."

"I see." Sophie said, even though she wasn't sure that she did completely, and this was rather a lot to take in.

"By the sound of it this headmaster is pretty keen to get you into his school. I might be able to find out something from my contacts about him, but I doubt it would amount to enough to persuade him to leave you alone in best saintly fashion. If you don't want to attend, we'd better start packing and prepare to vamoose pretty sharp. I don't know if I can even begin to protect you from wizards. I saw what the fighting did to your mother and father's house and it wasn't nice."

"Why ask me in the first place?" Sophie mused. "Apparently they'd rather I go willingly, but this Severus Snape bloke, despite being part of the 'come to Hogwarts' machine, sounded to be trying to warn me off. There's something more than the obvious going on." She chewed her lip. "Well, whatever's happening it should be interesting. We had best start packing, but I'd like to go along to this 'Leaky Cauldron' to get a better view of what I could be getting involved with, in case it looks worth staying."

* * *

><p>Author Notes: (revised)<p>

Severus Snape grew up in the muggle world until he was old enough to go to Hogwarts, and even though it was past Simon Templar's heyday by the sixties, stories about his deeds were still in circulation in this alternate universe. This Severus Snape grew up respecting him as something of a Great British Hero, which impacted his character.

Severus Snape in this universe wasn't fully informed of just _who_ James Potter married since, although they were both in the same year at Hogwarts, they were placed in different houses and there was some ill-feeling between them (although not as nasty and more amusing on Severus' part than the enmity which existed between them in the canon universe). Once their life as Hogwarts pupils was concluded, Severus wanted to know as little as possible of James Potter's family or doings. When Severus employs legilimency on Mr. Tombs (note the eye-contact) this is the first he knows of the Simon Templar aspect of Sophie's background.

The Hogwarts staffing roster is somewhat different in this universe from canon. Severus Snape is the school caretaker, and during school-terms can be found putting late-night pranksters in detention for sneaking about after curfew with sacks of dangerous pranking equipment. Dumbledore pensioned Filch off, finding Severus Snape much more useful in the role on a number of counts. There are additional support staff (including a troll) in several subjects, and Binns got shuffled off to the library...

(revision, May 18th, 2014)

James in fact told _Selene_ (Sophie's mother) that he was a wizard before they married, but didn't inform her father (Seamus Tombs) because he was concerned about a possible over-protective father reaction. Seamus' picture of what was going on in the war at that time is somewhat incomplete, too.

(revision)

A number of reviewers seem confused by Sophie's family tree, so, in the Saint Potter universe, as of July 31st, 1991:

Simon Templar ('The Saint', multiple aliases, but including 'Sebastian Tombs') is last seen apparently blowing himself and Voldemort to blazes at the end of the Prologue and is quite dead. (Given that this is partially a Harry Potter universe, and that he _is_ Simon Templar this doesn't preclude the possibility of very occasional (spectral) appearances but otherwise he is off the scene.) Simon Templar (deceased) is Sophie's great-grandfather.

Seamus Tombs is a son of Simon Templar. He retrieved Sophie from the rubble at Godric's Hollow on Hallowe'en 1981, and has since then been bringing her up. He _was_ married at some point to a lady named Mathilde, but she died round about the time that their daughter, Selene, was born. Seamus Tombs is Sophie's grandfather.

Selene 'Tilde' Tombs (later Selene 'Tilde' Potter) is Seamus Tombs' daughter. She married James Potter and died at some point during proceedings on Hallowe'en 1981. Selene (deceased) is the grand-daughter of Simon Templar and the mother of Sophie.

James Potter was a pure-blood wizard, and a member of the Potter family. He had a crush on a witch at school, but once out of school he ended up marrying a muggle, Selene 'Tilde' Tombs. James Potter died at some point during proceedings on Hallowe'en 1981. James Potter (deceased) is the father of Sophie.

Sophie Theresa Potter (born, 31st July, 1980) is the daughter of Selene and James. Since her mother was a muggle, but her father was a wizard, Sophie is a 'half-blood' witch as far as witches and wizards count things. Sophie is the great-granddaughter of Simon Templar (deceased), and the granddaughter of Seamus Tombs (her current guardian). Sophie survived the proceedings of Hallowe'en 1981, when Voldemort himself was apparently destroyed and a number of his inner-circle members defeated (killed or incapacitated) and is known as 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' in wizarding Britain.

'Samson Taylor' was a son of Simon Templar and he was a (half-)brother of Seamus Tombs. 'Samson' died at some point during proceedings on Hallowe'en 1981. For the purposes of this story he is Sophie's great-uncle. He is quite thoroughly deceased.

Ethel Pockerbridge has not been mentioned or even hinted at in the prologue and first chapter of this story. For the record, she was a friend of Selene 'Tilde' Tombs (they were both at the same (muggle) school together) and she is Sophie's godmother. She is currently alive (and has a couple of children (twins) a year younger than Sophie).

Also for the record, the wizard in this universe who was _supposed_ to be Sophie's godfather didn't make it to her christening (he claimed he'd spent that morning in St. Mungo's after badly splinching himself whilst trying to apparate in a state of being severely hung-over), and so consequently Sophie has no named godfather.


	3. At The Leaky Cauldron

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had a couple of sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans).

Further Note: Any characters with canon counterparts may have personalities and take actions at variance with what they would be and do in canon. This is an alternate universe which was impacted by The Saint.

Updated, 17th May 2012, with reference to mini 'Cooper S' added and other slight revisions.

* * *

><p><em>In which Sophie's grandfather recognises a man who entered a cat into a dog-fight, drinks are supped, and Sophie hears of perils associated with a name with a hyphenated soubriquet attached<em>

The exterior of the Leaky Cauldron did _not_ impress Sophie. Given the slightly rundown and dilapidated air it had, lurking furtively between a considerably more salubrious book store and a record shop, Sophie wouldn't have been too surprised if people had ignored it and hurried past _without_ the involvement of any kind of magic.

"It's definitely there." she told her grandfather.

He scratched his head, and looked from the record shop to the book store and back.

"Well, given the address he gave us, I can see that logically it _should_ be in between these two buildings, but I can't seem to see it. If I stare hard enough at the sky or the pavement I get a _sense_ there's something not quite right, which I'm missing, but it makes the eyes water horribly."

They had travelled the short way across London in one of the cars Sophie's grandfather owned – specifically the sporty red 'Cooper S' mini – and had parked it in a pay-and-display a short way across the road from the address Mr. Snape had given them. Not sure just how long this could take, but given that Sophie had a cinema trip with friends arranged for this evening, they'd bought a six hour ticket for the car-park.

Sophie's grandfather had dressed for this excursion in an old-fashioned tweed waistcoat and trousers, with white shirt and a tasteful maroon cravat. He had a respectable, if not slightly bohemian, look.

Sophie was wearing a tracksuit and trainers, and her grandfather had insisted she spend at least ten minutes studying a map of the area before they came out, in case she had to make a fast get away. She had a baseball cap on, back to front, at a jaunty angle, to cover the small but interesting scar on her forehead, in case it was a distinguishing mark known in the magical world. She and her grandfather had agreed that, whilst he would use his own name, in the interests of discretion and avoiding unknown hazards she would be 'Miss Sally Templar', his great-niece, visiting from Gibraltar.

"I suppose we'd better stop playing and go in." she sighed. She glanced at the directions Mr. Snape had written for them earlier. "Close your eyes, and give me your hand.

Her grandfather obliged, and she duly led him inside.

"For what it's worth, you can open them again now." Sophie said.

Inside, the pub was even less impressive as far as Sophie was concerned. It was rather dingy, fitted out with grubby wooden furnishings whose timbre it was difficult to determine if represented either the natural colour of the wood or a patina of years' worth of accumulated grime. There was a smell of spilled alcohol and stale tobacco smoke, and the windows looking out into London were smeared and grimy.

The majority of the clientele were dressed in rather peculiar fashions in garments which during their manufacture didn't seem to have been anywhere remotely close to a device of more recent invention than the mid-eighteenth century, and the barman was a hunched, miserly looking man with long stringy grey hair. A large grey tabby cat was sitting on the bar, occasionally twitching its tail, or hissing and swiping at some insect that came within reach.

Sophie's grandfather was easily the most respectably dressed man in the room, but it said a lot about the clientele that even in a tracksuit and trainers Sophie still managed to rate the second best dressed female by a long shot.

The most neatly dressed female was a woman who looked to be in her thirties with red hair and piercing green eyes, in a white cotton blouse, sensible dark grey skirt and black academic gown, who was sitting at a table doing her best to control three dark-haired children of varying ages who had varying degrees of resemblance to her and to the Mr. Snape who had visited the mews a few hours earlier. They were currently eating a lunch which consisted of some sort of vegetables and meat pies.

Sophie's grandfather produced an old-fashioned fob watch that happened to go with his waistcoat and glanced at it. They were still three-quarters of an hour short of the time Mr. Snape had specified he would arrive.

Sophie elevated an eyebrow at her grandfather not sure what their plan was here.

"I could do with a drink." he said.

Sophie took that as an indication that he wanted to observe the premises, and talk with the barman, if the latter were to prove amenable, before opening communications with anyone else.

She dutifully trailed him to the bar.

"What forms of payment do you take in here?" her grandfather enquired.

"Magical and non-magical British currency." the man behind the bar scowled.

"I'll pay in non-magical, and have a glass of whatever's a decent ale." Sophie's grandfather said. "And a glass of something suitable for my great-niece."

He was being cautious and implying a more remote kinship between them, in case anyone happened to be looking for a grandfather/granddaughter combination.

The barman busied himself with the pumps for a moment, and filled a pint glass with something golden brown, and a half-pint glass with something much more yellow.

"Ale and a butterbeer will be five pounds total, including service." the barman spat. His mood seemed as surly as his face.

Sophie noticed her grandfather studying the man though, and could see he was mentally processing his face, having seen it before somewhere.

"Argus Filch." her grandfather said at last. "The man who entered a cat in a series of dogfights, several years back, and made rather a lot of money, before disappearing once the bill started to sniff around. Hah! Knew I'd seen you before somewhere."

"And you would be?" the barman looked disturbed at being recognised.

"Someone of a saintly disposition, but not looking to make trouble today." Sophie's grandfather said. He took a ten pound note out of his wallet and put it on the bar. "Keep the change. Best laugh I'd had in years, seeing your 'Mrs. Norris the Second' corner Didsley's mad pitbull crossbreed."

Mr. Filch made the ten pound note disappear at great speed, and Sophie's grandfather removed the two glasses from the bar, handing Sophie the smaller glass and taking the pint-glass for himself.

They made their way over to a vacant table, close to the redhead and her children, and sat down.

"Always suspected there might be something beyond the normal about that cat." Sophie's grandfather smiled briefly. "It was more intelligent than some of those betting on the fights. Well it's a relief to see at least one face I know from my own world here, and behind a bar, too!"

Sophie cautiously sipped her drink and sucked her cheeks in rolling the liquid around on her tongue.

"It's sort of like butterscotch." she answered her grandfather's glance. "It might even have a very low alcohol content."

Her grandfather sipped from his glass.

"Well this one's a pretty good ale. Cheers!"

They clinked glasses and sat there a while, observing the scene.

Sophie noted that quite a few of the patrons seemed to have wands either obviously to hand, sticking out of pockets, or projecting from bags.

"We've definitely crossed over into another world here." she sighed.

"I'd say we're on the fringes of one." her grandfather corrected her. "This looks to be a place where usually the poor, the destitute, and the desperate hang out."

* * *

><p>They finished with their glasses, a short while later, and exchanged glances.<p>

"Observation done?" Sophie asked her grandfather.

"I would think so. Time for us to introduce ourselves."

He got up, and made his way across to the redhead, Sophie following. The group had concluded their meals by now and the children had produced some sort of colouring books and were busy stealing one another's crayons whilst the woman occasionally arbitrated squabbles.

"Excuse me, my dear, but you look helpful." Sophie's grandfather adopted a softly spoken, rural-sounding, accent, intended to set the listener at ease, when addressing the redhead. He had a slightly apologetic tone. "Seamus Tombs." he introduced himself. "My great-niece, Sally, here, is visiting from abroad for a few days, and it seems she's got some sort of rather unusual talents, and it was recommended we come to this pub to find out more. She's coming up to secondary school age, and is getting odd letters from places we've never heard about before. Would it be possible, if it wouldn't be imposing too much on your time, to have quick briefing on all this hoo-hah? This, umm, witches and wizards, business?"

"Lily Snape. _Professor_ Lily Snape but I'm not on school business at present, so I won't stand on formality." The redhead turned her gaze upon Sophie. "Are you muggle-born?" the redheaded woman looked at Sophie.

"Err, I have no idea." Sophie said.

"Parents magical?" the professor prompted.

"Possibly one?" Sophie did her best to look doubtful on this. "It's a bit difficult to ask him, since he's dead. Gang incident." She looked duly sorrowful.

"Muggle-born is someone whose natural parents and grandparents had no known magical ability whatsoever." the professor said. "Look: the magical world is an exceptionally dangerous place to be wandering around with no experience or guide because the laws of physics don't always work, the magical world has its own laws and police force, and there are some _highly_ prejudiced people around who take exception to muggle-borns wandering in without a clue what's going on – and wrecking things, as they see it. We had a big war where that was a major issue for some people for most of the seventies, and even when it finished in eighty-one, things only went back under the surface again. You _really_ shouldn't go wandering around without a clue what's going on. Fortunately for you I occasionally do introductory work with the families of muggle-born students, and I have a telephone contact number you can call for a ministry department supposed to answer questions. If you or your great-uncle have a pen and paper I can give you the number and you can take it down."

Sophie's grandfather produced a pocket-book and pen, and Professor Snape duly dictated a number to him.

"My thanks, my thanks indeed. I'm surprised you don't have cards with that on." he said, putting the pocketbook away.

"I don't like to encourage newcomers without wands to get into bad habits, such as accepting an item from a complete stranger. It could be a portkey or something much worse. Oh the chances of it happening to a newcomer are relatively small these days, I dare say, but there was an unpleasant gang operating on the alley half a dozen years back which specialised in contact portkey abductions."

"Can you tell us anything about any of these schools – Hogwarts or Beauxbatons or Durmstrang?" Sophie asked.

"Hogwarts is the bestest school in the world." one of the children, who had been following the conversation with bright eyes said. Apparently she had found it temporarily more interesting than a picture of a sailing ship. "Leastest, that's what uncle Hagrid says."

"Uncle Hagrid, Daffodil, is not what you might call an objective observer." Professor Snape said to the child, then paused a moment to regard Sophie carefully. "If you're getting letters from schools then they know you exist, but it may well be that if you already had at least one magical parent, that they assume you already know about the magical world." She made a face. "Most witches and wizards are _good_ at making simple assumptions. If you had an owl, you could of course owl them back," she saw Sophie's expression, "but the best you can probably hope for if you don't know about sending messages by owl either is to write to them back by normal post – if you have an address – or ring that ministry telephone number. I think it's Molly Weasley they have on the phones these days. She got sick to death of having a husband with a shed full of stuff he only half understood and did a couple of years intensive study of non-magical culture and equipment, and ended up taking over and expanding his job at the Ministry of Magic. She's a bit overwhelming, but she means well…" She frowned at Sophie. "What's your name again?"

"Templar. Sally Templar." Sophie said.

Professor Snape carried out a slow, searching, look from Sophie to her grandfather, and then back.

"Umm, this may sound presumptuous, but are you by any chance a relation to, umm, the late Simon Templar? Most witches and wizards couldn't care less, but my husband has a grounding in the non-magical world, and is something of a Templar nut."

Sophie made a face and looked to her grandfather for her lead.

"She's distantly related to him, yes." he said. "You wouldn't credit the fuss the papers make of it at times."

"Occasionally it's easier to adopt a false name to avoid attention." Sophie said.

"Being a famous person or related to someone famous is even _crazier_ in the magical world." Professor Snape said. "That war we had which finished in eighty-one… There was a baby girl involved in the end of it, Sophie Potter, who had to be removed from the magical world altogether for her own safety at the time. Of course: over the years since, there's an industry sprung up with books about her, newspaper articles speculating on where she might be or what she could be doing, dolls of her for girls to play with… The fact that nobody's quite sure what she looks like doesn't slow the traders looking to make a fast galleon down one bit. A lot of them go on the basis that she probably vaguely resembles her father, whom there _are_ photos and pictures of in the magical world, but basically everyone just guesses."

"Surely someone knows where she is?" Sophie's grandfather raised an eyebrow.

"The headmaster of Hogwarts who also holds several important political posts probably does." Professor Snape said, becoming slightly more guarded in her tone, and eyeing Sophie and her grandfather warily. "Some of the aurors – that's magical policemen – may well do as well, but they keep secret who _does_ have knowledge of where she went. There was some sort of crackpot prophecy which went wrong the night the war ended, and basically the authorities of the time decided it was best to make her vanish as there were any number of people who _might_ be looking for her for a variety of nefarious reasons. Ah, good afternoon dear." The children sitting with her had abandoned their colouring altogether and started squealing and bouncing and waving excitedly. "I'm just entertaining a couple of visitors to our world with stories of 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. Severus, dear, these are Seamus Tombs, and Sally Templar at least the latter of whom, if you can contain yourself, is distantly related to one of your old heroes. Mr. Tombs and Sally, this is my husband, Severus."

Sophie and her grandfather turned about to see Mr. Snape standing there, one eyebrow raised at them, quizzically, then he was distracted by the three children getting up from their seats to rush and hug him.

Sophie saw Mr. Snape and his wife exchange a _long_ look, and it was as if something passed between them, unsaid, as Professor Snape looked surprised, and did a double-take at Sophie.

"Most prudent, sir." Mr. Snape said to Sophie's grandfather, whilst patting one of his children on the head. "Of course, a name like Templar would hardly cause the fuss another might have made, as you may have gathered by now. Since the appointment I _had_ been expecting this afternoon with the mysterious 'Girl-Who-Lived' appears to have cancelled, perhaps I could show _Sally Templar_ and yourself around Diagon Alley instead?"

* * *

><p>Author Notes:<p>

As far as I know organised dog-fighting is illegal in the UK (and my apologies to any dog-lovers who find even a passing reference to it distressing), but that's part of the (under)world which Sophie's grandfather moves in... He's not quite so morally white and shiny as his father, Simon Templar was. 'The bill' is a slang term for the police force.

Anyway, Argus Filch ended up behind the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, after Dumbledore pensioned him off. Note that Argus has little animosity for the man who replaced him (there was a war on at the time, and other complicating factors, which Filch quite understands), but reserves it all for Dumbledore. He occasionally ventures out into the seedy side of non-magical London, with his current cat, where Sophie's grandfather had run into him before.

I get the impression that in canon The Leaky Cauldron has a fairly dismal appearance, both inside and out, but if this version is more rundown, I attribute it to the tenure of Argus Filch as the man in charge.

Sophie and her grandfather adopted a rather low-key approach in their trip to the Leaky Cauldron, with a different name and relationship to Mr. Tombs for Sophie given they're dealing with an unknown world. This saved them the pandemonium which ordinarily breaks out in canon/fanfiction when the name of the boy/girl/thing-who-lived is mentioned aloud in the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. Snape is probably kicking himself for not recommending it in the first place, but can understand it, even if he's a bit bemused they didn't apparently take a direct 'your husband sent us' approach to Professor (Lily) Snape. In that long exchanged glance between Mr. and Professor Snape, they were exchanging thoughts - at the very least legilimency (this version of Severus is still a legilimens) if not something deeper owing to the bonds between them. Sophie and her grandfather used a 'Templar' name for Sophie so that if they missed Mr. Snape, and he later discussed the day's proceedings with anyone present in the Leaky Cauldron, he would have a reasonable chance to realise they were there with Sophie under a false name.


	4. Diagon Alley

(Updated with Author Notes, further updated with spelling of Ivar Nordsten corrected and other minor revisions/corrections, further updated with Grabprop conversation adjusted for slightly different slant on events surrounding capture of 'one of the Dark Lord's most valuable men'.)

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had a couple of sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans).

Further Note: Any characters with canon counterparts may have personalities and take actions at variance with what they would be and do in canon. This is an alternate universe which was impacted by The Saint.

* * *

><p><em>In which there is an unexpected hiccup in a trip to the bank, a slightly smoother call at a wandmaker's, and Sophie and her grandfather round their first afternoon in Diagon Alley off with a trip to a bookshop<em>

"Diagon Alley?" Sophie's grandfather enquired.

"Magical shopping district." Mr. Snape said. "Out round the back here, so to speak. Even if you're not intending to buy school supplies, you might as well see where it is, now you're here and I gather," he looked irked for a moment, "that a trip to Gringotts bank might be appropriate, as I have _belatedly_ learned Miss Templar's parents had an account there."

"I know Sally's mother had a post-office account, but it's the first I've heard of anything to do with Gringotts." Sophie's grandfather frowned. "Shouldn't Sally or her guardians have heard something about it before now?"

"Apparently the Wizengamot ordered Gringotts not to communicate with any possible heirs. The Wizengamot – before you ask – is effectively the court and legislature of the British Ministry of Magic." Mr. Snape said.

"And the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, you told us earlier, is… Ah. Right." Sophie's grandfather made some sort of connection virtually instantaneously. Sophie couldn't remember exactly what had been said back home, but her grandfather didn't look too happy about something.

"Quite." said Mr. Snape.

Professor Snape winced and muttered something under her breath about 'our glorious leader' in a distinctly sarcastic tone.

"Has Uncle Albus been naughty again?" one of the Snape children looked wide-eyed.

"_Very_ naughty. When we get home, I shall have to put him over my knee and smack him, firmly." Mr. Snape said, and the children giggled. "Anyway:" Mr. Snape returned his attention to Sophie and her grandfather. "We could visit Gringotts and see what there may be to be learned there, and we could also call by Ollivander's to outfit Miss Templar with her own wand."

Sophie and her grandfather exchanged glances.

"If it wouldn't put you out of your way." Sophie's grandfather said. "We wouldn't want you to feel unduly obliged."

"There would be no sense of obligation to it at all." Mr. Snape dismissed the notion. "I'd be delighted to assist you, Mr. Tombs, and your great-niece."

* * *

><p>That settled, Mr. Snape kissed goodbye to his wife and children, and then led Sophie and her grandfather through a door at the rear of the bar, and out into a cobbled courtyard stacked with crates of empty bottles and with several battered old plastic dustbins standing in a group. It was surrounded by a high brick wall. Mr. Snape drew his wand and approached a stretch of the wall adjacent to the dustbins.<p>

"Pay attention." Mr. Snape said. "There is _one_ very special brick in this wall." He counted up, and across, and pointed his wand at a brick. "This one. And we proceed forward like so:" Then he tapped the indicated brick three times with his wand, and the wall started to vibrate, and then with a sliding, grinding, noise it split open, as bricks folded in on themselves, leaving a large archway through the wall into another place. "Diagon Alley." Mr. Snape gestured, with a flourish.

Sophie and her grandfather went through, and Mr. Snape followed. The archway closed up behind them.

* * *

><p>Sophie's initial impression of Diagon Alley was that it wasn't something she'd boast to her friends about having visited any time soon. It was a crooked street paved with cobbles, that twisted back and forth, on which most of the shop facades and the goods which they offered looked hopelessly old-fashioned. Just about everyone, whether shop assistant, customer, or casual passerby was weirdly dressed in old-fashioned looking clothes (although most were somewhat better garbed in the cut and quality of their cloth than those back in the Leaky Cauldron), and a variety of peculiar odours assailed her sensitive nose. There were herbalist stores with aromatic smells and cauldron shops that stank of metal-polish and woodcarvers' stores that smelt of varnish and wood-chippings. There were fish shops and butchers and shops which appeared to exclusively stock all sorts of weird animal parts, all of which had that peculiar combination of smells of ice and cured meats and blood and death. There was even the occasional menagerie, with the predictable stenches emanating which accompanied large selections of caged birds, caged rats, toad aquariums, and various other creatures. About all that could be said for the smell of Diagon Alley was that at least there weren't any motor-cars fugging the air further with exhaust fumes. An advertising poster in one formal evening wear shop window featured a constantly moving drawing of a hopelessly badly drawn couple apparently trying to execute some sort of dance, and every now and then in the alley an owl flew overhead. Some of these owls seemed to be clutching objects in their claws.<p>

"What are the birds doing?" Sophie asked as they made their way along the street at a pace gentle enough to permit Sophie and her grandfather to take in all the sights and sounds and smells of the place.

"They're magical birds which deliver post and small packages of goods." Mr. Snape answered.

Sophie recalled something Professor Snape had said about contacting schools, which made slightly more sense now.

"Is there a special owl postal service of some kind then?" Sophie asked.

"Most magical families and businesses own at least one owl for their own use." Mr. Snape said. "There is no formalised centrally operated service."

"Did your 'other errands' of this morning by any chance include a rendezvous with one certain headmaster if only now you know about Sally's account?" Sophie's grandfather interjected, having been apparently pondering this since they left the Leaky Cauldron.

"That is correct." Mr. Snape acknowledged. "I flooed up to Hogwarts to confirm some medical details of another possible first-year student with the school-nurse, and ran into the headmaster whilst I was up there. He seemed highly distracted about something, and was preparing to leave in a hurry. He mentioned it in passing."

"'Flooed'?" Sophie asked.

"The Floo network is one of a number of means of magical travel, consisting of a network of special fireplaces which allow instantaneous travel or communications for a magical individual between hearths on the network. Witches and wizards who are of age may also usually apparate to a destination with which they are acquainted – apparition being a form of travel akin to 'beaming' in Star Trek – or employ portkeys either made by themselves or someone else to similarly travel to a location predetermined by the portkey creator. Hogwarts is warded against entry by apparition and portkey, however, and floo access to the school is generally restricted to a few members of the staff such as the senior professors and myself. There are a few magical equivalents of public transport too, such as the Knight Bus – that's 'knight' with a 'k' by the way – and if one can stand the cold and avoid being seen so as not to break the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy there is always broomstick travel…"

"What's the International…" Sophie began but was cut short as Mr. Snape hailed a giant of a man with unkempt dark hair and a beard, and a pink umbrella, who was hurrying down the street in the opposite direction.

"Hagrid! What are you doing here?" Mr. Snape called.

"Can't stop ter chat, Severus. Dumbledore's asked me ter fetch him some stuff." the giant made his best attempt at 'discreet'. "There's bin an attempted raid at Gringotts. Some fool of a wizard set a couple of dragons loose an' tried ter make off with the contents of one of the vaults owned by an old associate of Dumbledore's." He stopped and did a double-take on Sophie's grandfather. "Here. I've seen yeh before somewhere. Somewhere important."

"Godric's Hollow, 1981." Sophie's grandfather said cautiously.

"That's right." Hagrid said. He glanced at Sophie. "Is this?…"

"Hagrid. _This_ is Mr. Tomb's great-niece Sally Templar, or so I have been informed." Mr. Snape said, a slight warning note in his voice.

"Templar? I could have sworn… Never mind. Well it's a pleasure ter meet yeh, Miss Templar." Hagrid said, and lost interest. He hurried off.

"Hagrid means well, but is not exactly renowned for his intellect." Mr. Snape said, shaking his head.

"What was he doing that night in Godric's Hollow?" Sophie's grandfather asked.

"That's a good question. The father of The-Girl-Who-Lived was commonly believed to be a member of an organization dedicated to fighting the Death Eaters and their master. It's possible that Hagrid may have been a member of the same organization and sent out as reinforcements once they realised there was an attack going on in Godric's Hollow that night."

"He arrived a bit late to do anything meaningful." Sophie's grandfather said, critically. "I'd already retrieved the Girl-Who-Lived and done my best to secure the area."

"Quite so. I've never been a member of the group in question myself, however, and so my understanding of what they were doing is consequently limited, but I gather they were expecting a heavy attack somewhere else during that period and apparently thought Godric's Hollow would be relatively quiet. I can only guess at what their reasoning was in how they responded to the crisis that Hallowe'en." Mr. Snape grimaced. "But there was effectively a war on. Mistakes happen, so I gather, in the fog of battle."

"Is it known who was the head of this organization that the Girl-Who-Lived's father may have been in?" Sophie's grandfather asked.

Mr. Snape hesitated a long moment, and actually stopped in the street, forcing Sophie and her grandfather to stop too.

"Albus Dumbledore." Mr. Snape said at last.

"His name seems to keep popping up." Sophie's grandfather observed.

Mr. Snape sighed.

"He's the great hero who defeated Grindelwald in the nineteen-forties, and saved magical Europe. Figures who defeat dark lords in the world of witches and wizards usually get great acclaim from their fellows, and are often looked to for leadership. And Albus… Albus, even if he's declined the actual job of Minister for Magic several times, is very fond of being in charge of things and arranging what other people should do. He genuinely believes he knows best when it comes to many things, and isn't afraid to push for his agenda to be followed by others." He made an exasperated motion with his hands. "I've been working at Hogwarts for over a decade and _I_ don't fully understand the reasoning for some of the things he does, though… But don't be too surprised if his name pops up a good deal more, in other tales and capacities."

They resumed their travel along Diagon Alley. Sophie had to do a double-take when she saw someone who from the waist up was a man, but from the waist down was a horse, emerging with a package from a shop which had telescopes in the front window.

"Centaur." Mr. Snape said in response to Sophie's surprised look. "They don't often travel to the Alley, but they are noted observers of the stars."

And then a large building, of polished white stone, came into view, which towered over the other shops and stores around it. A huge pair of bronze double-doors set into the facade were firmly shut, and a lot of witches and wizards were milling around in confusion outside, along with several short, swarthy-skinned, men, in smart red and gold uniforms, who had watchful expressions and fended off the occasional question from a witch or wizard. There was a low murmur of frenetic speculation going through the small crowd, and an occasional appeal or entreaty made by a witch or wizard to one of the uniformed little men.

"Well, Hagrid certainly seemed to be correct about a disturbance at Gringotts." Mr. Snape pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "We'll go around to try the side entrance, which is often open to customers from important families. I would think Miss Templar counts as that, given who her parents were."

* * *

><p>"The shorter beings we saw around the front were goblins, and goblins own and run Gringotts. Keep in mind," Mr. Snape said, as he led them back a short way down Diagon Alley, and off down a side-street, "that goblins are cunning and honourable creatures, who keep to the strict <em>letter<em> of any agreement, but expect others to do so too. Provoking a goblin – especially by breaking one's word – is a _bad_ idea. There have been a number of wars between witches and wizards and goblins, which witches and wizards, with their sense of superiority over other magical races, have referred to as 'goblin rebellions'. Most witches and wizards like to tell themselves that goblins are a subservient race, and these days it suits the goblins to play along with that game. Some of the best artisans in the magical world, when it comes to metalwork, are goblins, and they are considerably better with numbers than most witches and wizards, hence their position as the bankers of the magical world. And they have their own language."

He stopped at a steel door set in the wall of the bank and rapped on it. A small hatch at about the height of his waist slid open, and dark eyes squinted out, accompanied by a string of words which made no sense to Sophie. Mr. Snape replied in kind, and the conversation went back and forth for about a minute, before the hatch snapped shut again.

"He's agreed to fetch someone to take Miss Templar and her relative to see a senior manager, for a matter pertaining to The-Girl-Who-Lived." Mr. Snape said. "Apparently Hagrid had it right insomuch as someone has tried to steal an important item from one of the vaults earlier today – and the goblins say the witch or wizard responsible at least pretended to be from Hogwarts. Gringotts is currently under lockdown whilst the goblins clear up and the headmaster of Hogwarts answers some questions which they have. Since I'm a Hogwarts member of staff, the goblins don't want me on the premises right now, in case I'm anything to do with the attempted break-in, so I'll have to wait out here for you."

There were a series of clangs, and the door swung open to reveal a squad of half a dozen of the swarthy creatures, in more of the red-and-gold uniforms, armed with a mix of spears and crossbows.

An unarmed goblin behind the others looked out at Sophie and her grandfather.

"I am Findnut." he said in an acerbic tone. "Miss Templar and Mr. Tombs may enter."

* * *

><p>The corridors, staircases and passageways of the interior of Gringotts were lit by brightly burning torches, which gave little smoke, and certainly didn't scent the air. Sophie guessed they were probably magical, but she didn't have the chance to stop and examine one, as they were being led at a brisk pace along a route where the surroundings varied from passages fashioned of regular stonework and masonry to tunnels and stairs hewn through the bedrock.<p>

"The name Tombs is not unknown to us." Findnut said as he led Sophie and her grandfather through the maze of passages. Sophie suspected he was trying to get them lost, or to at least confuse their sense of direction, but so far he was failing to do that with her. Besides Findnut, they were also accompanied by a couple of other goblins, one of whom was armed with a spear and the other with a crossbow. "Neither is the name Templar, but we had not heard that a Miss Sally Templar in such a context existed: Still, your family is one rife with deceit, Mr. Tombs." and Findnut _grinned_ as if he had intended that as a compliment.

"I appreciate your discretion." Sophie's grandfather replied.

Findnut seemed to mull that over for a moment as they walked.

"Mr. Tombs." he said at length. "Rumours of your own exploits and those of your father are well known here amongst the goblins. Irrespective of other circumstances, you would be welcome, here at Gringotts, on the grounds of what your father did regarding Quell after Jones abducted him; the havoc a non-wizard with the ability to merrily manufacture gold could have caused would have been enormous, and we gathered that your father may have also thwarted some scheme involving Ivar Nordsten that might have made unpleasant waves in the bond markets. But there are a number of events your father was involved in which have us, to be frank, quite baffled – we have theories of course – but certainty is in short supply. The exact role of Boileau in the elimination of Francis Lemuel, for example…"

"I might be pleased to discuss what I know of _some_ of my father's adventures on some other occasion." Sophie's grandfather said. "I'm unclear how much more my great-niece and I may have to fit into our schedule after this call however."

"True, true." Findnut nodded. "Perhaps you might wish to make an appointment to enlighten us as to his exploits on some other occasion… Ah." He stopped outside a polished mahogany door, with a gold handle, which they had passed twice before, whilst wandering the corridors, Sophie was sure. "And here we are." He rapped on the door and called out: "Findnut, with two humans with an enquiry about financial matters pertaining to The-Girl-Who-Lived."

"Send them in." a voice came from inside.

* * *

><p>The office looked like that of a very well-to-do person Sophie thought, looking around, with polished wood and metal fittings, plush leather armchairs, and lots of books and papers. It was lit by a number of strategically placed oil-lamps and a slight haze of chalk dust in the air suggested that something on a large slate blackboard mounted on one wall may have been erased immediately before she and her grandfather entered. Seated on a high stool behind a large desk with a commanding view of the whole room was a wizened elderly looking goblin, with sunken eyes and a wispy goatee beard, in a snappy version of the red-and-gold uniform. He may not have had any such modern equipment as calculators or computers on the desk behind which he sat, but he did have a number of abacuses to hand. There were a couple of small wooden step-ladders folded in one corner of the room.<p>

Other than the high stool on which the old looking goblin sat, the other chairs in the room were all human sized. Findnut and his armed goblins had remained outside in the corridor, meaning Sophie and her grandfather were alone with this important-looking goblin.

"Please, sit down." The elderly goblin gestured to a couple of chairs positioned across the desk from him. Sophie and her grandfather did so, and the goblin steepled his long fingers and scrutinised the pair of them over them for a long moment.

At long last, he spoke.

"I am manager Grabprop." the goblin said. "The account of James and Selene Potter is under a security order from the Wizengamot. The witches and wizards will claim we have breeched their precious treaties if I divulge anything more than that, except in the presence of Miss Sophie Theresa Potter, herself. I am not even permitted to owl her account statements. If Miss Potter is present, under an invisibility cloak, say, now would be a good time for her to reveal herself."

"Is this meeting entirely in confidence?" Sophie's grandfather asked.

Grabprop looked amused.

"You have my word, human, that unless it threatens the security of the goblin nation, no word of what passes in here will be reported by me to anyone else without your permission to do so."

Sophie's grandfather weighed Grabprop's words carefully for a spell of several heartbeats, before replying.

"I am Mr. Seamus Tombs, and the young lady with me, whom we have been styling as my great-niece, Miss Sally Templar, is in fact my granddaughter, Miss Sophie Theresa Potter. It seemed a reasonable security precaution to take, walking into an unknown world. You will have surmised this already for yourself, I suspect, but I'm now confirming it to you, for the record, so to speak." Sophie's grandfather said.

"If things are as you say, we will need to collect a drop of blood from Miss Potter, by means of a silver needle and to examine it to verify this claim." Grabprop said. "If she is indeed Miss Sophie Theresa Potter, you have my word the blood will be destroyed immediately after the examination, and not held for possible future use."

"Are you happy with that?" Sophie's grandfather looked at her.

Sophie thought about it a moment, and couldn't see anything obviously wrong with it. She rather liked the goblins she'd seen so far, and Mr. Snape _had_ indicated that they were essentially creatures of their word.

"It seems a bit silly to come here and not take whatever test they think is necessary to prove who I am." Sophie said. "Yes, I'm happy with that."

* * *

><p>Five minutes later – one drop of blood having been collected from Sophie by means of needle to the finger, inspected by the goblin on a glass slide under an unusual large brass microscope he had retrieved from a cupboard, and then vaporised in the flame of one of the office lamps– they resumed the conversation.<p>

"So, Miss Potter:" Grabprop said. "How may Gringotts be of service?"

"What exactly is this about an account my parents had?" Sophie asked.

Grabprop retrieved a ledger from a draw of his desk and rapidly flicked through it, then passed it across the desk, open at what seemed to be the most recently updated page, to Sophie.

"The current total of the Potter account. We state the figure in galleons, sickles, and knuts – the coins of the magical world – and in recent years have kept a running estimate of the approximate value in pounds sterling, were it to be converted, minus the usual commission for such a transaction. We were not unaware of your circumstances, growing up the other side of the line."

Sophie gasped and her eyes almost popped out of her head, when she saw the numbers involved. She passed the ledger to her grandfather who gave a small cough to cover _his_ surprise, and then he started inspecting the numbers with interest.

Grabprop continued:

"The Potters were a moderately well-to-do family by the standards of the wizarding world, and your mother, Selene, insisted on very specific arrangements given the war raging a decade ago, to ensure that nobody could touch even a fraction of the Potter wealth without your say-so were she and her husband to both meet with some unfortunate end. As it was, she was perhaps a prudent woman in that respect. There were three attempts to access the account in November 1981 following your parents' unfortunate demise. The first was on the first of that month by a wizard of the name of Peter Pettigrew, who claimed he was a friend of your father, Miss Potter, and who tried to draw a note your father had written for him. The note tested as genuine, but by that point news had reached us of the demise of James and Selene Potter, and so the restrictions Selene had dictated were in force and the note no longer valid without your personal authorisation. The second attempt occurred a few days later on the fourth of the month and was by a wizard by the name of Remus Lupin, who claimed he needed to make a withdrawal from the Potter account to ensure your security, Miss Potter – but irrespective of his intentions that was again invalid without your authorisation. Finally, at the end of that November, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore, tried to take over ownership of the account, claiming it was necessary to do so for your good and to prevent any possibility of the money falling into unfriendly hands. He showed a paper he said was written by your father, James, giving him the authority to do that. It was impossible to determine if the paper was genuine, as he would not let us inspect it, and given the date on it, it had in any case been superceded by the arrangements your mother had put in place. We declined his demands too, after which the Wizengamot, for 'security reasons' imposed an order restricting us from not having any kind of communication with you at all unless it was in person on goblin territory, until you attained your seventeenth birthday and were of age under Ministry law."

"You have a good memory for what happened back then." Sophie's grandfather said, shrewdly, looking up from his inspection of the ledger.

"Word that someone was in the building to enquire about the account preceded you to my office by some minutes, and I took the liberty of reviewing the ledgers and the separate notes kept by myself and my predecessor on known activity, in that time." the goblin smiled.

"I seem to recall the name Peter Pettigrew." Sophie's grandfather frowned. "He was one of James' friends that I'm sure Selene liked. Could you recommend any means by which we might perhaps find and contact him?"

"Mr. Pettigrew was reported as being deceased in the wizarding press several days after he called in here." Grabprop said, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It was front page news at the time, and I need consult no notes to tell you that much. Apparently he was killed by a wizard described as 'one of the Dark Lord's most valuable men' in an incident which also saw a dozen muggles killed and several more injured. When the aurors successfully detained the wizard in question in the immediate aftermath of _that_, those in authority at the Ministry of Magic considered any public trial 'unacceptably potentially dangerous' and instead, after a private interrogation held in secret at the ministry, sent him straight to the wizarding prison of Azkaban for life. If you're serious about contacting Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Tombs, if you can find out where he is buried, then I may be able to recommend a wizard in the employ of Gringotts with the capacity to temporarily call up and speak to the spirits of the deceased – although if you _were_ to engage in such action on territory where the British Ministry of Magic has jurisdiction, you would have a legal obligation to clear any such conversation with them first."

That sounded a bit gruesome to Sophie, and her grandfather seemed to share her opinion.

"I think I'll leave it for now." Sophie's grandfather said. "I don't think we're _that_ desperate to speak to him."

"Excuse me, please." Sophie put her hand up, confused by an earlier term. "What's a muggle?"

"A muggle is a term used in the magical world to refer to a human with no magical ability at all." Grabprop said, his lip curling slightly. "It has a slightly derogatory sound to it, which suits the at least moderately patronising attitudes of many witches and wizards to such humans, but it is, I must concede, a useful shorthand expression. It's certainly faster to write or say 'muggle' than 'human with no magical ability'."

"So I'm a muggle?" Sophie's grandfather said.

"In the terminology of witches and wizards, yes." Grabprop concurred.

"Professor Snape said something about muggle-borns." Sophie's grandfather frowned. "Do witches and wizards categorise themselves by birth?"

"You are remarkably astute, sir." Grabprop nodded. "Indeed, yes: Many witches and wizards differentiate their own kind according to the magical status of recent ancestors. A muggle-born has no magical birth parents or grandparents in their family tree. A pure-blood has only magical birth parents and grandparents in their family tree. A half-blood has at least some magical parents or grandparents, but not all. Technically, Miss Potter, you are a half-blood. Despite the ridiculous beliefs and prejudices of some witches and wizards so called 'blood purity' is actually meaningless in terms of magical ability, but there are some sections of magical society which are very snobbish about it, and will go so far as to insult muggle-borns by calling them 'mudbloods'."

"It's starting to sound, at least in some elements, a very unpleasant – or at least ignorant – society." Sophie's grandfather frowned. "If you would do me the honour of an honest opinion, between ourselves, would you advise me to support Sophie in having anything to do with this magical world?"

"You have little choice, Mr. Tombs." Grabprop said. "Unless you wish to spend your life running. For the past decade stories about 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' have been circulating, with 'facts' invented when information was in short supply, and there are those with power and influence who will seek to hunt her down and drag her kicking and screaming, if necessary, into the magical world in the names of their own agendas. At present, your choices are to run or to at least try and have some say in the terms on which she will interact with the magical world and there are many things it would be _useful_ to know that some willing interaction at this point could gain her."

"I see." said Sophie's grandfather. "I've heard that opinion today already at least once, although from a slightly more obligated source."

"Great-grandfather went on the run from the police several times, successfully. I think we could outrun these witches and wizards if we wanted to do so, grandfather." Sophie said. She hesitated and chewed her lip. "Probably. I mean at least great-grandfather knew what the police he was on the run from could do and what resources they had at their disposal…" She sighed. "If these people are _really_ determined, I suppose if it's relatively safe I ought to at least _try_ and find out more about them and their ways and means." She looked around the office. "And it's not as if there aren't _friendly_ people over here, too."

"I am honoured by your confidence, Miss Potter." Grabprop seemed politely amused at being considered 'friendly'.

"So: Would it be possible for Sophie to make a withdrawal from the Potter account here and now, to cover – say – the expense of shopping for school supplies, and the costs of a year at school?" Sophie's grandfather asked, closing the ledger and passing it back to Grabprop.

"That should be possible. Selene Potter put limits in place on what it would be possible for Miss Potter to take out until she reaches her seventeenth birthday, at which point control of the account passes to her, but those limits should easily cover school supplies, and separate arrangements altogether are in place to ensure any school fees are covered, so long as they are for a school which Miss Potter has herself chosen to attend. Ordinarily Miss Potter would travel down to the Potter vault to make the withdrawal at this point, but due to the present lockdown situation that will not be possible at this time. I can take a written instruction and, if she signs it, see that someone fetches sufficient coins from our general supply, and at no charge ensure the balance is sorted out later. This is procedure, please understand. Someone set loose two young dragons, earlier today, from a vault ostensibly registered under the name of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, as a diversion to aid an attempt to steal an item belonging to the master alchemist, Nicolas Flamel, from one of our high-security vaults. The thief failed to breech the high-security vault, having seemingly underestimated our vault defences, but was apparently successful in making his or her escape whilst the dragons still occupied our security teams. However, _nobody_ except Gringotts employees is currently permitted to enter or leave any vault, whilst we complete a comprehensive search for any other surprises and check for clues the attempted thief or any accomplices may have left behind. If we ever determine the identity of the thief…" Grabprop's eyes gleamed in an unpleasant manner for a moment… "Well: let us say, he or she had best hope the aurors lay hands on them before _we_ do."

* * *

><p>In the end, Sophie signed a paper for 150 galleons, which Grabprop considered 'should cover most contingencies likely to arise', and he called Findnut in, and sent him off to fetch the money. Whilst they were waiting, Grabprop filled them in on a few details of currency, such as that galleons were gold coins, sickles silver ones, and knuts brass ones, and that there were seventeen sickles to a galleon, and twenty nine knuts to a sickle. He also made polite enquiries regarding Sophie's great-grandfather, confirming that goblins generally were apparently fascinated by Simon Templar and his exploits – it seemed they considered that he 'possessed practically goblinlike cunning'. Eventually Findnut returned with a small moneybag which Grabprop said was made of mokeskin, and which turned out to be much bigger on the inside than the outside, and which Grabprop said Sophie could keep until she next came to make a withdrawal from the Potter account. He emptied the contents out, and made a point of counting them back in, before handing it over to Sophie.<p>

"As a matter of interest, can you say what happens to the Potter money if anything _should_ happen to Sophie before she reaches her seventeenth birthday?" Sophie's grandfather had one last question before they left Grabprop's office.

The goblin grinned.

"Selene left explicit instructions that the Chancellor of the Exchequer – meaning the non-magical government of the United Kingdom– gets it. Rest assured, we have made this fact well known in the wizarding world, and there will be _no-one_ trying to bump Miss Potter off in the hope of inheriting that as a result of the deed. Indeed the thought of the Potter wealth going to 'muggles' would drive most witches and wizards who might otherwise have designs on it to absolute distraction."

And then they exchanged farewells, and Findnut and his two guards showed Sophie and her grandfather back to the side-entrance, by a different route through the building to that by which they came in.

When Sophie commented on this Findnut seemed surprised for a moment that she'd been paying this much attention to where they were going and noticed, but rapidly recovered and responded:

"Albus Dumbledore is being moved around the building, whilst he attempts to answer our questions. We want to make sure you don't accidentally bump into him…"

And then she and her grandfather were back outside the steel-door, to find Mr. Snape sitting on a padded stool, reading some sort of catalogue.

"This summer's Zonko's products. I'm making a note of what to add to the banned list." Mr. Snape said by way of explanation, getting to his feet, tapping the catalogue with his wand to shrink it, and dropping it into a pocket. He waved his wand at the stool, and it vanished. "Visit successful?"

"Visit interesting." Sophie's grandfather replied. "Informative. And we have some of the local currency now, for Sophie to go shopping with."

"Splendid. Ollivanders now, for a wand for Miss Templar?" Mr. Snape queried.

"That seems a good idea." Sophie's grandfather concurred.

* * *

><p>Ollivanders was as short way along Diagon Alley from the bank, and had a small dingy looking facade with peeling paint and grimy yellowish letters above the main shop window announcing: 'Oll..: .akers of .ands .ince 382 ..'<p>

There was an empty cushion of faded purple velvet lying in the window, with a slight dimple in it as if it had recently held something.

There was a sound like a bell tinkling somewhere in the depths of the shop as Mr. Snape pushed the door open and they went in.

Inside, the air was dry and dusty, seasoned by a subtle aroma of beeswax and exotic woods; the rust-coloured carpet covering the floor was threadbare, the pattern it might once have had indecipherable; and there were long thin oblong boxes fashioned of a mixture of woods stacked everywhere around the shop. There were boxes piled up on the counter, arranged in heaps around the floor, and stacked on shelves that went right up to the ceiling.

There were several people already present in the shop; an old man in a white shirt and what looked like a maroon coloured Victorian smoking jacket stood behind the shop counter, sorting through boxes, and around on the 'public' side of the counter there was a girl of about Sophie's age accompanied by a woman who might have been thirty something, with a careworn face. Both girl and woman were dressed in tattered and much-patched robes.

"Good afternoon." the man behind the counter paused in the middle of sorting through boxes to glance in the direction of Sophie, her grandfather, and Mr. Snape. The man behind the counter had weird silvery grey eyes which seemed almost to glow in the gloom as they ranged over the three of them. The other girl was meanwhile waving a wand around, but not much was happening. "I shall be with you presently, but I am currently fitting Miss Yaxley here for a wand."

'Miss Yaxley' had brown hair and matching eyes and something of a tom-boyish appearance. The woman accompanying her had darker hair, starting to go prematurely grey in places, similarly brown eyes, and a stressed expression on her face, as the man behind the counter opened several boxes exposing the wands they contained.

The other girl put down the wand she had just been waving, half-turned and glanced at Sophie and her grandfather and Mr. Snape, then turned back to the man behind the counter.

"Ebony and unicorn hair, Miss Yaxley, nine inches, short but powerful." The man behind the counter said, passing a wand.

The man behind the counter had rapid hands which swiftly and surely tidied wands away or extracted them from boxes. He and the items he handled barely made a sound as he worked.

The brown-haired girl waved this new wand, and a puff of reddish smoke emerged from the tip, but not much else.

The man behind the counter sighed, retrieved it, and handed her another one.

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple…"

The girl waved that one, and this time a shower of red and gold sparks emerged. The man behind the counter looked a mixture of relieved and slightly disturbed as he took that wand back.

"Excellent, Miss Yaxley. It seems we finally have a fit. That will be nine galleons, please."

The woman who was with 'Miss Yaxley' flinched, but opened a bag, pulled out nine gold coins, and handed them to the girl, who passed them over to the man behind the counter. He put the wand back in its box, neatly wrapped it in a sheet of brown paper, tied off with string, and passed the parcel over to the girl.

"Miss Yaxley." the man behind the counter arrested the departure of the girl and her mother, just after they had turned to go. "You have a highly unusual wand there. The phoenix which gave the feather for the core has to my knowledge only ever given one other feather, and that went into a wand which was sold from this very shop over half a century ago. Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches. The student who bought it went on to do great but terrible things with it."

The girl, whose attention was on the man behind the counter, just shrugged at this news, but for a moment the woman with her looked as if she was about to have a heart-attack. The latter managed to recompose her face though, before the girl looked at her.

Then the pair left the shop. On their way, Miss Yaxley subjected Sophie to a thoughtful gaze, then stuck her tongue out at her, in a cheery mock insult. Then the door banged, and they were gone.

"Tricky customer." the man behind the counter sighed. "Sometimes I get an almost immediate sense for a wand which _might_ fit, but in the customer's interests I try to find something else. Destiny does not like to be fought, however." He ran his eyes over Sophie and the two men. "Severus Snape, ebony and phoenix feather, twelve inches, good for precision work. The headmaster warned me you could be coming. Is this?..."

"This is Miss _Sally Templar_, Garrick." Mr. Snape said. "Miss Templar, Mr. Tombs, this is the wandmaker, Garrick Ollivander."

"Miss _Templar_." Mr. Ollivander ran his weird silvery grey eyes over Sophie. "Well, I am used to customers who are occasionally other than what they seem. A meddler who does not appreciate the subtleties of the wandmaker's art had, ironically, wanted me to try you with the wand which has just gone out through the door, although to see you, I doubt it would have suited you so well as it clearly fitted the lady it just chose. For the wand chooses the witch or wizard you see…"

He came around the counter, and produced a tape measure from one of his pockets.

"Are you left or right-handed, Miss Templar?"

"I'm ambidextrous." Sophie said. "I usually write with my right hand, because that's what people expect."

"Hmm. If you'd hold your arms out horizontally, please?"

Sophie complied, and the wandmaker busied himself with his tape measure, muttering various things under his breath as he did so.

"Hah! I have just the thing for you, I believe." the wandmaker concluded his measurements. He headed back around the counter, and bent down to retrieve a long polished casket from beneath it. He placed the casket on the counter, and opened it to retrieve one of several wands from the velvet-lined interior.

"Ebony with a core of unicorn hair and silver wire hammered from an alluvial nugget by a goblin craftsman." He held up the wand, a faint hint of pride in his tone for a moment. "Twelve inches. Ordinarily I confine myself to cores of just the one material, and use only phoenix feathers, dragon heartstring, or unicorn hair, but sometimes the mood takes me to experiment a little." He beckoned Sophie forward to the counter, and handed the wand across to her. "Give it a wave."

She did so – very _cautiously_ given the chaos she remembered the demonstration wand had caused back home – but the only thing which happened was she felt a warm tingling feeling in her arm, and a shower of brilliant silver sparks emerged from the tip of the wand.

Mr. Ollivander looked pleased.

"Excellent, excellent. A fit on the very first try and a wand for a true adventurer. The price would ordinarily be very steep, given the work involved, but it is yours for only eight galleons." He held out his hand for the wand.

Remembering he had just charged Miss Yaxley nine galleons, eight clearly wasn't his top price, but Sophie didn't want to be just rushed into paying the first price asked, and she found she didn't want to let go of the wand right now. Holding it just felt so _right_.

"Eight? Does that include a box for it?"

Mr. Ollivander seemed somewhat taken aback by this question, before apparently recognising he'd retrieved it from a private supply, and not simply taken it off the shelf.

"Yes, Miss… _Templar_. I have some spare boxes out the back."

He motioned with his fingers, and slowly, reluctantly, Sophie put the wonderful wand back in his hand and watched as he disappeared with it into a back room. Presently he returned with a brown paper wrapped package which Sophie could _feel_ held _her_ wand. She had by now retrieved eight of the golden coins from the mokeskin money bag, and was waiting with barely restrained impatience to hand them over in exchange for the wand.

"Miss Pott…" the shopkeeper seemed to forget himself for a moment, and then corrected himself, hurriedly. "Miss Templar, there are certain restrictions on wand use of which – it occurs to me – you may not be aware. A witch or wizard under the age of seventeen is _not_ supposed to practise magic with any wand in an area under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic _except_ at a school or under a very small number of circumstances. Punishments vary, but due to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy those who live in muggle areas, without the supervision of magically capable adults, are both the most severely watched and those most rigorously held to account for use in non life-threatening situations."

Sophie blinked at that, and decided she was going to have to research areas where the British Ministry of Magic's writ did _not_ extend, and what restrictions, if any, might apply there? She recalled mention of a treaty which the goblins had with the Wizen-thingummyjig, which suggested that the goblins at least might be semi-independent of Ministry control and law. The prospect of a number of trips to Gringotts over the summer, so her grandfather could entertain the goblins with tales of his father, had just become a _lot_ more interesting for Sophie, too.

"Thank you for warning me of that, Mr. Ollivander." she said solemnly, and with as much sincerity as she could muster. "I shall be _very_ careful to keep that in mind."

Mr. Ollivander gave a small sigh, as if to ask 'What have I just done, selling this girl a wand?' and took the coins from Sophie and passed her the parcel. She hugged it to herself, tightly, and gave him her most winsome smile.

"Could you recommend any books on looking after wands, and keeping them in good working order?" She was aware that her grandfather had to regularly maintain his collection of firearms, and occasionally assisted him in dismantling, cleaning, greasing, and reassembling them. It seemed not unlikely to her that the main tool of a witch or a wizard might need similar maintenance.

"Wands are not quite so maintenance dependent as a broomstick – for example – and one from this shop should function perfectly for years with little attention unless you decide to take up jumping on it or using it to toast marshmallows in a fire; but if you _wish_ to give it attention, I would recommend _The Essential Wand Guide_ by Nelly Ollivander, which should still be in print and available in the specialist section of a good magical bookshop such as Flourish and Blotts."

"Thank-you." Sophie said. A trip to a bookshop was sounding a good idea right now, not least because it would (hopefully) have books about the rules and laws of the magical world too, which Sophie would have to get her grandfather to go through with her. It was always a good idea to find out exactly what the rules were _before_ someone else accused you of trying to break them…

Sophie had a couple of spare plastic shopping bags folded up in the pockets of her tracksuit and, since Mr. Ollivander didn't seem inclined to give any such things away, she pulled one out and dropped her new wand into that. She looked at her grandfather and Mr. Snape.

"Next stop, a bookshop?" she suggested hopefully.

* * *

><p>Along the way to Flourish and Blotts, Mr. Snape pointed out a side-street he referred to as 'Knockturn Alley' which he advised Sophie and her grandfather to steer clear of as it was where unsavoury sorts hung out – which was perhaps not the <em>wisest<em> thing to say, as Sophie's grandfather immediately looked _very_ interested. Mr. Snape then attempted to clarify that the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy meant only witches and wizards and their very close relatives were allowed to know about magic and that the Ministry of Magic did something about anyone else who found out. _What_, exactly they did, Sophie didn't get the chance to hear, as her grandfather predictably hijacked the conversation, wanting to know all about Knockturn Alley, which lasted until they reached the bookshop.

Upon entering Flourish and Blotts Mr. Snape had immediate cause to regret the call, as Sophie and her grandfather instantly flagged down a shop-assistant and headed not for the section of school texts, or even where books on wand-care might be found, but instead launched into a discussion about books of magical laws, recommendations of a decent magical dictionary, and the merits of various books concerning what amounted to the 'high society' of the wizarding world and detailing who the movers and shakers were. This discussion went on for some time, the shop-assistant occasionally distracted by other customers, some of whom _were_ shopping for Hogwarts, such as a chubby blond boy who gave Sophie and her grandfather a funny look, whilst Mr. Snape showed signs that he was starting to get very itchy feet, and that he really _should_ be elsewhere, doing other things.

Finally, sensing an imminent outburst if they took much longer, Sophie and her grandfather selected half a dozen of the most useful sounding books, located a copy of the book Mr. Ollivander had mentioned, and paid for the lot, pressing Sophie's other plastic shopping bag into service too. The handles of both bags were now strained, as none of the books they'd purchased were exactly lightweight paperbacks.

"I have other errands to run." Mr. Snape said, sounding apologetic but looking rather relieved as they left the bookshop. Sophie had to admit that standing in a bookshop watching other people discuss books you hadn't been expecting them to want to buy was probably rather boring and annoying. "I'll show you out of Diagon Alley and take my leave of you."

He set a brisk pace back down the street, finally arriving at a stretch of wall where he drew his wand, demonstrated the brick-counting from _this_ side, and smartly tapped the requisite brick, causing the gateway to open up again.

"If you forget which brick you're supposed to tap, it's possible a passing witch or wizard _might_ help, but don't ever bother Argus Filch about it, since he's a squib – which is to say his magic never developed properly. Argus is unable to use a wand, thus this topic is somewhat sensitive for him." Mr. Snape cautioned.

"Does use of a wand to enter or exit Diagon Alley count as a breach of those underage magic restrictions?" Sophie asked Mr. Snape.

"No. Not since it's not technically casting a spell. Nor is using a wand for other purposes, such as summoning the Knight Bus. I'm sure at least _some_ of the books you have there will give details, Miss Templar."

Then he hastily made his escape.

"We may as well head home and start reading." Sophie said, following him through the wall. Her grandfather stepped through just after her. "We can always come back for the school stuff some other day, if we don't decide to emigrate." She made a face. "_And_ we're going to the cinema with Carolyn, Janet, Roderick, and Paul tonight. I'm going to have to tell them _something_ at some point to explain either why we're going on the run or why I'm off to a boarding school somewhere or other that I'm not really allowed to talk about." She brightened up. "Oh well, at least I'll have some time to think about _that_."

* * *

><p>Author Notes:<p>

Well, this chapter took longer to write than I was expecting. A couple of the conversations where Mr. Snape is explaining various facts of the wizarding world underwent several rewrites, different information got move around between different people revealing it, and in one cut scene, Sophie went so far as to try and _haggle_ with Mr. Ollivander for a wand.

First of all, Sophie has _not_ spent her life living in a cupboard under the stairs. Diagon Alley, compared to shops of places such as Paris, New York, or Milan (or even some of the posher parts of London) seems chaotic, disorganised, old-fashioned, and smelly. And having grown up for the most part in the non-magical world, Sophie isn't exactly positioned to appreciate it for the merits of what it _does_ offer witches and wizards. Except for the goblins. Sophie absolutely adores the goblins, already, because she sees them as cunning but honourable, prepared to stand on their principles against authority figures of the Ministry, and there are hints that you _really_ don't want to cross them. All that, and they appreciate her great-grandfather, too...

For the record, Findnut in conversation references the events (assumed to have happened approximately as Leslie Charteris wrote them) of '_The Gold Standard_' (Quell and Jones), '_The Higher Finance_' (Ivar Nordsten), and '_The Logical Adventure_' (Francis Lemuel and Boileau).

I'm not clear what weapons goblins use in canon, but weapons that either help obviate the smaller stature of a goblin (spears, with reach) or which ignore it altogether (crossbows) seemed to me to be logical to outfit Gringotts guards with. They might have knives for close quarters fighting, too.

Yes, the raid on the Flamel security vault in this chapter happened _before_ Dumbledore or anyone else tried to move anything out of it. I'm not a fan of canon Dumbledore miraculously sending Hagrid to remove the contents of vault 713 just hours before the canon break-in attempt takes place. Or of some of the deductions the canon 'golden trio' make on the basis of that... So in this story, the break-in attempt was entirely unexpected by Dumbledore, but he then gets called in and hauled over the coals by the goblins who'd like him to explain some of the things which have been going on.

Dumbledore never had the key to the Potter vault in this story because of the arrangements Sophie's mother had put in place. He _tried_ to get ownership of the account, but the goblins (politely) told him what he could do with himself, so he had to settle for getting the Wizengamot to pass the 'no communications, because it might put Miss Potter in danger' order instead. The goblins have the key to the Potter vault, and (when Gringotts is open for normal business) will send someone with it to accompany Sophie whenever she needs to make a withdrawal. She gets the vault key (if she manages to survive the coming years) on her seventeenth birthday, along with full control of the account.

Sophie's wand is a slight liberty on my part since (canon) Ollivander only makes wands with unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, or phoenix feathers. Sophie is _not_ canon Harry Potter and for various reasons I did not want the holly and phoenix feather wand as her 'proper' wand (although in one draft with slightly _too_ intelligent crazy planner Sophie, she bought it as a backup wand) but I did want something special, so I went with an unusual not-quite-regular Ollivander core. And Patricia Yaxley... well again it's a _slight_ liberty on my part that Sophie just _happens_ to be in the shop at the same time as Miss. Yaxley is fitting for a wand, but it does settle for now the question of where the 'canon' Harry Potter wand ends up. And Patricia Yaxley herself is someone who does _not_ exist in canon.

Finally, the slightly chubby blond boy in Flourish and Blotts was Neville Longbottom, no doubt wondering why a girl of his own age is so interested in books about laws and old families. I gather from one Harry Potter wikipedia at the time of my writing this (9th April, 2012) that Neville was at some point envisioned as being fair-haired, and he is in this universe.


	5. Bracing for Impact

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had a couple of sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans).

Further Note: Any characters with canon counterparts may have personalities and take actions at variance with what they would be and do in canon. This is an alternate universe which was impacted by The Saint.

Further Further Note: 'At the Leaky Cauldron' has been updated with the mode of transport used to travel to The Leaky Cauldron added, and 'Diagon Alley' has had a few small corrections regarding names made.

Further Disclaimer: The Bradley Wiggins mentioned in this chapter bears no resemblance, to the best of my knowledge, to a famous British cyclist of that name. I swiped the name, finding it a good one, but that's it.

* * *

><p><em>In which there is mention of Icarus Didsley and some slight ado over a piece of his handiwork, the goblins continue to be friendly and helpful, and our heroine does her best to brace for impact with the magical world<em>

Having discovered that she was a witch, that her parents had left her a small fortune in gold in a bank run by goblins, and that a politician who also happened to be the headmaster of a Scottish boarding school that taught magic was interested in messing with her life, Sophie's cinema trip with her friends at least went relatively well – and was mercifully free of further magic-related surprises. The next morning, Sophie's grandfather surprised her by being already dressed for the day at breakfast.

"We're going out somewhere then?" she surmised.

He nodded.

"Weybridge. I left some things there some years ago. In a house I have there."

More than that he refused to say for now.

Sophie's grandfather once again selected the shiny red mini-cooper 'S' from the garage for their business of the day. The drive to Weybridge was moderately pleasant, with the car radio tuned into Radio 2 as the London suburbs sped past. At one point, Sophie turned the radio down to ask a question which had been bothering her since the previous day.

"Grandfather. If the gas explosion story was a cover-up and my parents died in an attack by an evil wizard and his gang, then does that mean that your father and brother?…"

"They _were_ there that night, and died there too." Sophie's grandfather said. "My father was morally certain that the idiots in charge of trying to fight the evil wizard and his gang didn't know the first rules of such warfare, and were incapable of seeing to it that your mother, your father, and you stayed safe. He insisted on personally overseeing the security in Godric's Hollow, and your great-uncle Samson often stopped by. I sometimes wonder… I sometimes wonder if my father knew more than he let on, and had somehow – God knows how – got a _spy_ in the evil wizard's gang who was telling him things. But I didn't really pay much attention to what was going on, as I'd spent rather a lot of years around your mother, raising her single-handed after Matilda died, and I wanted to give her some space once she was grown-up and married. We both had strong opinions, and tended to get on one another's nerves rather quickly at times – you should have heard the row we had just after her eighteenth birthday when she announced she'd gone into modelling – so I only stopped by if I was specifically sent for by her or my father. In retrospect I should have perhaps taken a bit more of an interest in what was going on, but I didn't see much need for it, not being a wizard, and since James seemed to have nothing but respect for and devotion to your mother – which I considered the most important thing I needed to worry about anyway…" He paused and seemed to be collecting his thoughts. "I was proud of her, and of her independence, you know, and I tried to respect that. We all did. But yes, my father and brother were there that night, and died in battle." He paused a moment, apparently concentrating on the road ahead and collecting his thoughts whilst outside the car the scenery bowled past. "I would have liked to have been there, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them, but the plan called for _someone_ to be held back in reserve, and I was the logical choice." Another pause. "It was much too soon for your parents, but I like to think that if my father, and maybe my brother, _had_ to pick a way to go, the notion of going down fighting against the odds and evil wizards whilst saving a child would have pleased them. There's something just hopelessly romantic and larger-than-life to the thing."

And then he turned the radio back up, and wouldn't say any more on the topic.

* * *

><p>The house in Weybridge which turned out to be their ultimate destination had a somewhat rundown, dilapidated look.<p>

"I pay someone to tidy up the garden once a month, and make sure the roof and windows are fine, but other than that I leave it well alone. Up until now." Sophie's grandfather said as they stood on the doorstep whilst he went through a bunch of keys, until he found one which fit the front door.

Inside the house, it was apparent that nobody had been in here for some time. The carpets and the sheets draped over the furniture were thick with dust, and there was a faint scent of mildew in the air. Sophie tried clicking a light switch, but there didn't seem to be any electrical power.

Sophie's grandfather led the way into one room which might once have been some sort of library or study given several empty floor to ceiling bookcases along one wall. He closed the door they'd come in through – the only obvious normal entrance or exit – and fiddled beneath the sheets with some of the furniture. To Sophie's surprise the next moment one section of bookcase emitted a click, and then swung inwards slightly.

Her grandfather pushed at it, and it swung a lot further, as if it were a door.

Behind it was a small secret room.

Her grandfather produced an electric torch from a coat pocket, and led Sophie in, fumbling with his keys again.

"I kept some things here." he said. "Things which were probably magic. I kept them here, a long way from us, and tried to forget about them, in case having them around attracted any kind of attention from witches and wizards." He approached a large bronze chest, knelt by it, tried several keys, and then raised the lid.

Sophie approached to stand next to him and peer at the contents in the yellowish light of the torch.

There were a number of wooden sticks in it which were unquestionably wands, a couple of odd looking broomsticks, an old manual typewriter, several pieces of paper with typewriting on them, a piece of silvery cloth, and a collection of small glass bottles and vials with cork stoppers in. Most of the latter contained a selection of variously coloured liquids.

"What are they? Where did you get them?" Sophie asked.

"They're things from the house in Godric's Hollow. When I arrived that night, besides the members of our family who'd been there, I found more than half a dozen witches and wizards lying around the house and garden. None of them were conscious, and most of the living ones looked pretty badly injured, but the only witch or wizard whose side I was certain of was your father, James, and he was dead. Since I didn't want to risk anyone else present, who might be unfriendly, trying to pull anything magical on me if they came around, I collected up anything I could find which looked remotely magical or which I already knew for certain could be used with magic. The notes and the typewriter they were done on were part of some kind of spell which had been supposed to hide and protect your parents and you, although I've no idea how it was supposed to work. I know your parents gave me one of the notes. And obviously it _didn't_ work, as the enemy found you all anyway."

Sophie picked up several of the notes and examined them. Set out on each, in the anonymous script of a typewriter, were the words: 'The Potters can be found at Honeysuckle Rest, Godric's Hollow'.

"'Honeysuckle Rest' was the name of the house we were in?" Sophie frowned.

"Your mother picked the name." her grandfather said. "It was her favourite flower."

"And writing it – no, _typing_ it – on pieces of paper was somehow supposed to hide us?"

"It was something to do with the magic. Or at least that's what I was told. Your father was never any good at explaining anything to do with magic to me."

Sophie sighed, and put the notes back in the chest. She left the wands where they were. Several of them looked broken, but she had no wish to get in trouble for waving even a piece of one around to see if it did anything.

She picked out a couple of vials, but they could contain practically anything. She supposed they must be potions. She put them back, and took out the bundle of silvery cloth, instead. It seemed, somehow, vaguely _familiar_ for some reason.

"What's _this_, grandfather?"

"Oh, it's an invisibility cloak which belonged to your father. In the days leading up to Hallowe'en Selene said one of James' old professors had been making a fuss about it, wanting to borrow it, but with people after them, she wasn't letting the thing out of the house, in case their hiding magic went wrong and they needed it as a last resort. It took me some time to find you that night, I must say, despite a disagreement you'd had with a cactus; I could hear you, but not see you, because they'd wrapped you up in that."

Sophie put the cloak back. It _might_ be useful, but if one of her father's former teachers had been so desperate to borrow it, it was possibly magic that was rare and very valuable, and was best left somewhere safe until she could get a better idea of what it might be worth – or if having it around might cause trouble?

She pulled the broomsticks out. They were _definitely_ magical. She could feel one of them practically quiver in her hand.

There had been something in the equipment list accompanying Sophie's Hogwarts invitation letter about broomsticks, she recalled now, and Mr. Snape had mentioned them as a means of travel.

"I wonder if the underage magic restrictions apply to broomsticks, or if the International thingummybob of hiding does to broomsticks used where nobody non-magical can _see_ them being used?..." Sophie speculated.

"Well we could take them home with us so they're available once we've checked. They were in a cupboard at the house in Godric's Hollow and I think I saw your father riding one of them once. Is there anything else you'd like to take back with us?"

"No books?" Sophie glanced over the rather scarce contents, and was slightly disappointed.

"The house was full of books. I had no idea which might be spellbooks and which might be romance novels, and I wasn't stopping around to try and work out which were which. I doubted any could be an immediate threat to us or immediate assistance to an injured enemy. I might have looked for your mother's diary, if she'd kept one, but she knew better than to write important things – let alone personal thoughts – down in anything she'd leave lying around a house."

"No, just the broomsticks then." Sophie sighed. "I don't want any of the other stuff without knowing more about magic. It might not be safe."

Witches rode broomsticks in stories, and if she _was_ going to be a witch she wouldn't mind finding out what zooming through the air on one felt like.

* * *

><p>Sophie's grandfather insisted they make enquiries in Diagon Alley, to check the condition and safety of the broomsticks before Sophie even <em>thought<em> about trying one out.

This pleased Sophie, since on the way they stopped by home to get changed, have a cup of coffee and biscuit, and to collect her wand. Sophie's grandfather was going to carry the mokeskin moneybag, until they discovered that apparently he couldn't open it to get anything out, so Sophie extracted a fair number of coins, and passed them to her grandfather to carry so he could look like the one with the money (hopefully thus helping to keep attention away from Sophie). Then they proceeded (slowly) through the traffic to the vicinity of the Leaky Cauldron, parked the car in the pay-and-display they had used the previous day, and drew some comments from passersby in crossing the road from where they had parked (as Sophie's grandfather was carrying two broomsticks, though doing it in such a way as to make it appear the most natural thing in the world) – to which comments her grandfather responded that they were props for a school play. The foot of highly polished ebony with a phoenix feather and alluvial silver core which Sophie was carrying drew _no_ comment, since it was out of view in a plastic supermarket bag along with the mokeskin moneybag (the latter accompanying them as a precaution should some crisis beyond what coins Sophie's grandfather had would cover arise).

Then they were in the Leaky Cauldron, where people with broomsticks was _not_ regarded as an unusual sight, and proceeded round the back to where it took Sophie only four goes to find the right brick to tap to with her wand to open the arch. Sophie felt her spirits rise – she had used her wand for the first time to do something magical, even if it _was_ only what amounted to opening a door. Never mind. The way the wall shuddered and split open, she reassured herself that it was still a moderately impressive 'door'.

They were using the Sally Templar alias for Sophie, again, and had invented a story for how they had come by the brooms in case anyone asked and they turned out to be in some way recognisable as having associations that meant potential trouble.

Sophie put her wand away with a wistful sigh, and they stepped through into Diagon Alley, where they wandered up and down it checking out the windows of likely-looking shops, and noting that Gringotts still looked to be closed to regular custom – although today there _were_ a couple of tables set up in the street outside the bank, with goblins sitting behind them. One of the bank's huge bronze front-doors was slightly ajar, the opening flanked by a pair of goblins with spears, and with other goblins occasionally coming and going through the gap, carrying things. The witches and wizards queuing to be dealt with at the tables looked a mixture of resigned and irked.

* * *

><p>Back on the broomstick front, Sophie's grandfather eventually opted for a shop which seemed to be a specific purpose broomstick shop, with the name 'Bristle's Brooms' proclaimed in brown letters on a sky-blue background on a signboard above the front window.<p>

A bustling grey haired young man with friendly blue eyes and dressed in practical short-sleeved robes greeted Sophie and her grandfather as they came in.

"Good day to you sir, and young madam – Frank Bristle's the name. How may I be of service?"

"We recently came across a pair of brooms on a stall on the Portobello Market, which my great-niece here – who is the one with the magical talent – sensed were something 'other', and we acquired them for a bargain price." Sophie's grandfather presented their cover story. "We were hoping for a recommendation of a reliable man or woman able to look them over, and see if they're in serviceable condition."

"Ah. That sounds like my father's line of work." Frank Bristle said. "If you wait a moment?..."

He stuck his head out of a door at the back of the shop and shouted: "Dad! There's a gentleman and his great-niece looking for an evaluation and possible service of a couple of old brooms they found on the Portobello Market."

He returned his attention to Sophie and her grandfather.

"He'll be here in a moment. In the meantime, can I interest you in anything else we might be able to offer you?"

"I'm afraid not at this moment." Sophie's grandfather politely declined.

Presently another grey-haired, blue eyed man, who looked a generation old than Frank, emerged from the door. Rather than robes, he seemed to be dressed in some sort of working clothes, with a leather apron over them.

"This is them, dad." Frank indicated Sophie and her grandfather.

"Hmm. Caesar Bristle. And you two are?" this newcomer gruffly surveyed Sophie and her grandfather.

"Seamus Tombs, and my great-niece, Miss Sally Templar." Sophie's grandfather introduced them.

"Well let's have these brooms up on the counter then." the senior Bristle said. He gave one of the brooms a cursory glance, and spent rather longer on the other. Eventually he gave a low whistle.

He straightened up.

"Both these brooms seem to have been out of use for several years, by the look of them. The one of them's a Comet – by the look of it made twenty to thirty years ago. The other… the other appears to be a Didsley 'special'."

"What," Sophie's grandfather asked, "is a Didsley 'Special'?"

"Icarus Didsley was a maverick designer for the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, who was heavily involved with the technical department in devising ways to mass-produce ever faster, better, brooms, but he did some complicated work for wealthy clients, of a sort not suitable for mass production. Even now more than a decade since the last Didsley special left his workshop, his later designs are at least as good as anything mass-produced today." The older Bristle shook his head. "To think of a Didsley 'special' ending up on a muggle market, where it might never have been appreciated again." His tone became businesslike. "Okay, well I could take these both out the back to my workshop, if you like, check the charms, trim or replace any bristles as necessary, and apply new varnish or polish. I usually charge a galleon a broom for a service, but I'll do the Didsley for twelve sickles. It'll probably be about an hour to give each broom a basic overhaul."

"We'd pay extra to _watch_ you at work on them." Sophie's grandfather surprised Sophie by saying. "My great-niece may as well learn some of the basics of broom maintenance, if she can, by watching a professional at work. We'd give you, say, double the rate you just quoted."

The senior Bristle frowned. The son looked gobsmacked as if this was not the sort of thing customers came into the shop inquiring about every day.

The senior Bristle's eyes strayed to Sophie for a moment, and his frown deepened, then his gaze returned to Sophie's grandfather.

"She a muggle-born then?"

"She may as well be." Sophie's grandfather said. "She lost the magical members of her family a few years back in a gang-related incident."

"Money up front, if you want to watch." the senior Bristle said.

"Fair enough." said Sophie's grandfather, and pulled a handful of coins out of his pocket. He counted an appropriate number onto the counter.

Bristle senior produced his wand and inspected the coins, tapping them with his wand whilst muttering something, then conceded at last 'they're genuine', took the brooms off the counter, and invited Sophie and her grandfather to follow him 'out round the back'.

* * *

><p>Mr. Caesar Bristle wasn't exactly talkative, and whilst Sophie did her best to try and follow what he was doing in his workshop – a room for the most part filled with woodworking tools – she found it somewhat boring. Nonetheless she tried to persist, not least because her grandfather wouldn't have arranged this without a good reason.<p>

After half an hour, she finally 'twigged': there were limits to how far her grandfather was prepared to trust Mr. Caesar Bristle, given how rare Mr. Bristle had indicated one of the brooms to be, and her grandfather wasn't altogether convinced that something mightn't 'happen' to that broom if they didn't keep an eye on it. Something such as Mr. Bristle claiming it had been 'unsalvageable' and fallen to pieces, whilst he had actually stashed it somewhere to sell to someone else later.

Having realised that, Sophie started to pay _much_ closer attention to what Mr. Bristle was doing.

He had started with the broom he'd said was the 'Comet', and was done with it in about forty minutes. At that point he walked over to the workshop's fireplace, where a small fire was burning, grabbed a handful of powder from a pot on the mantel, and threw the powder in the flames. The flames turned green, as he muttered something under his breath, then he stuck his head actually _in_ the flames (without apparently being hurt by doing so), and started having a conversation with someone that Sophie and her grandfather couldn't see or hear. Besides brief accounts of themselves and a lot of rather technical sounding stuff they caught Mr. Bristle mention the words 'Didsley special' several times and 'Portobello Market' once.

Then he withdrew his head, and the flames went back to normal.

"Floo-called a friend who knows about Didsley specials." Mr. Bristle said by way of explanation.

He sat down, and made himself a mug of tea on a little stove, not bothering to offer Sophie or her grandfather anything.

Presently, the flames turned green, apparently of their own accord, and a middle-aged man with a mane of grey hair, wire rimmed spectacles, and a slightly grizzled look to his face stepped out of them. He was a tall man, dressed in robes which had a sort of semi-official look, who was carrying a number of books and scrolls, and he spared Sophie and her grandfather barely a glance before making for Mr. Bristle, and the broomstick still awaiting attention on the workbench.

The pair of men circled the workbench, inspecting the broomstick from all angles whilst conversing in low tones, then the newcomer opened several of the books, drew _his_ wand, and murmured "_specialis revelio_".

The two men examined the broom more closely, as bits of it started to shine and glimmer with a myriad of colours, and consulted the books. Finally, as the colours started to fade, Mr. Bristle picked up the broom, turned it over, and looked at something through a magnifying glass. He grunted something and the two men searched through a scroll. Then the newcomer turned to Sophie and her grandfather.

"I'll pay you a fifty galleons 'finder's fee' for this broom, and won't bother to notify the department of magical law enforcement." he said, an unpleasant smile on his face. "This is the _Potter_ broom. It was made for the father of The-Girl-Who-Lived, and I really don't think it should be in hands like yours. I don't know or care whether you and your great-niece really got it on some muggle market – you don't have any reason to have as historically important an artefact as _this_."

"And you would be?" Sophie's grandfather prompted.

"Scrimgeour. Auror Rufus Scrimgeour."

"And I'm Tombs. Mr. Seamus Tombs – and I _didn't_ want a fuss if at all possible about these brooms' origin or bother from souvenir hunters, which is why I fabricated a 'found it on a market' story, but I happen to be the _grandfather_ of your 'Girl-Who-Lived' and it seems to me she should have as much of a right to that broom as anyone else."

The auror looked like he'd swallowed something exceptionally unpleasant, and he did a double-take on Sophie's grandfather, and then his gaze strayed to Sophie, and Sophie could see the figurative mental wheels spinning rapidly behind his eyes.

Then he returned his gaze to Sophie's grandfather, stared at him for a moment, and seemed to make his mind up about something.

"My apologies." the auror said. "I had no idea who you were, as specific information about you is in short supply. We appear to have gotten off on the wrong footing." He was brusquely polite now. "Perhaps, after you've finished here I could entertain you and your…" his gaze strayed back to Sophie for a moment, "…delightful 'great-niece' to tea in my office at the Ministry."

"How about a compromise?" Sophie said, moving in to forestall her grandfather who she could see was about to decline, annoyed by the initial impression the auror had made. If Sophie was going to have to live in the magical world, allies in the aurors might always be handy, and even if Scrimgeour turned out not to be exactly ally material, she was sure he still knew useful things. "How about we go for an ice-cream in the parlour here in Diagon Alley?"

She had noticed earlier today in their leisurely walk up and down the Alley peering in windows that there _was_ such a shop, and she _was_ curious what the ice-creams they might have here in the magical world tasted like…

"That would be… acceptable." Scrimgeour considered.

Bristle senior had the look of someone who _still_ hadn't figured out quite all that was going on, but then apparently he was a man whose craft _was_ his life and who consequently had limited sensitivity to social nuances.

* * *

><p>Mr. Bristle had finished with the second broom inside of forty five minutes, once he got going. Having seen Sophie was interested in the auror, her grandfather asked Scrimgeour to recommend broom-maintenance materials, which he did so, and some of which her grandfather accordingly bought from the shop then transferred to Sophie's shopping bag. Then, with both the brooms back in the possession of Sophie's grandfather, Sophie, her grandfather, and the auror proceeded out of the broomstick shop and along Diagon Alley to Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour.<p>

* * *

><p>Sophie found it weird to try and talk honestly about herself in the third person. Scrimgeour clearly knew 'Sally Templar' was at the least a borrowed name, but played along with the fiction and invited her to speak of what she knew about her 'cousin' and her upbringing. Sophie's grandfather tried not to look <em>too<em> concerned about what she was saying in between mouthfuls of the delicious 'Pecal and Sunny Dew' ice-cream, and Sophie skirted carefully around any mention of his extra-legal activities and also played down some of her strengths such as that for a girl of her age she was actually _quite good_ at judo and with an imitation fencing foil sized for her.

"Basically, she's been brought up as pretty much an ordinary muggle girl, I'd guess." Sophie wound down.

"It sounds to me as if you downplay some of your cousin's abilities and achievements, Miss Templar." the auror said. "However, she sounds _much_ different from what the perhaps a touch fanciful stories in circulation here in the wizarding world make out." He paused and then changed the direction of the conversation. "Do you know if she's enrolled for a school yet? A _magical_ school, I mean?"

"I believe not, sir. Although I hear she's had a Hogwarts letter."

"Dumbledore has some funny ideas." the auror mused. "And I can't imagine the girl you've described taking easily to being told she _ought_ to go to any particular school, let alone Hogwarts in a world she hardly knows. When you next write to her or however you do things in the muggle world, let her know she has my sympathy."

"I will do, sir." Sophie solemnly said. She hesitated, wondering how far it was safe to push him, and decided that on the broom front it was _probably_ okay to ask an innocent sounding question. "Sir. I'm sure my cousin or I wouldn't want to get in trouble for breaking the law: Would we be allowed to use either of the broomsticks you've seen? I know that there are restrictions that apply to at least wand-use if you're under seventeen."

"Ah. A not uncommon question amongst those without a wizarding upbringing." the auror said. "Regarding the underage restrictions and the international statute, you can inform her that she should be in the clear, legally speaking, on a broom so long as she's using it somewhere that there's no chance at all of any muggles seeing it in operation." He paused a moment. "Close muggle relatives excepted, that is… In practice, I'm afraid that means indoors only unless you have a witch or a wizard friend who lives in a house with extensively warded grounds."

* * *

><p>"I thought he was going to give me some big speech, but instead he just offered his sympathy." Sophie watched the auror disappear out the door.<p>

"A deceptively intelligent man." Sophie's grandfather said.

"It was nice of him to clarify the broom point for us." Sophie added. "Still, there are other questions we could do with answers to. Do we go and find out if and when it's convenient for you to talk with the goblins now?…"

* * *

><p>They did indeed, and after booking an appointment for about a week later for Sophie's grandfather to see the goblins 'about Francis Lemuel and other business' (they hedged about the reason a bit, since the discussion to arrange the appointment took place essentially in public, out on the street), Sophie and her grandfather headed into Flourish and Blotts and resumed their search for useful and interesting looking books. They spent several hours there combing the shelves before, stomachs rumbling as they had had nothing but elevenses and an ice-cream since breakfast, they stopped by the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, and then headed home for an early evening meal.<p>

* * *

><p>After dinner, once the daylight outside had faded sufficiently for the act of drawing the curtains not to draw undue attention, Sophie tried both the brooms out, in their living room. According to a book they'd bought riding a broom was like riding a horse, and basically something which wasn't so much taught, as experienced and learned. There were some basics where instruction was given – such as the 'proper' way to grip a broom, and that speed was usually controlled by the closeness with which a witch or wizard leant into the handle – but otherwise it was apparently, in the opinion of the writer, up to a witch or wizard to learn how to do it. Sophie spent three quarters of an hour floating around the living room on the Comet at a gentle speed, whilst her grandfather occasionally made faces, but eventually fetched out a Polaroid and took a couple of pictures of her. She managed not to have any disasters on the Comet, landed, and swapped brooms for the Didsley special.<p>

The moment Sophie sat on the Didsley, she felt a world of difference from the Comet. The Comet had, once she got the hang of it, basically done not much except react to what she was doing. The Didsley felt practically _alive_ in some way. It was impatient, and longed for wide open spaces, and the opportunity to leave anything and everything else flying trailing in its wake. It had been cooped up in a chest, forgotten about, for years, when it should have been dominating the skies. And had Sophie not been anything other than its true mistress – the daughter of its original owner – it would have taken a great deal of delight in attempting to smear her across the ceiling.

For now, it contented itself to float around the living room with her on it. It manoeuvred unbelievably fluidly, compared to the Comet, and Sophie _felt_ that if called upon for speed the acceleration would be phenomenal. The Comet was practically prosaic and colourless in character by comparison.

"Oh wow." said Sophie after her grandfather had taken a couple more photographs of her on the Didsley and she touched down at last. "I thought the Comet was amazing, but that one is something else altogether."

For a moment she had a crazy urge to beg her grandfather to go back to Weybridge the next day to retrieve the invisibility cloak too, so she could try the brooms outside under cover of it, but she squashed that notion with some effort. That would be needlessly reckless on so many different counts right now, ranging from invisibility cloaks still being an unknown quantity to the dangers of an outside fall – and there _were_ much more important things to do.

Then she inspected the photographs her grandfather had taken of her, noting the expressions of delight that had apparently been fixed on her face whilst she had been floating around.

She was _definitely_ going to have to try and stay off the brooms for now, she concluded, otherwise she might well get addicted to them and not spend the time she needed on other things…

* * *

><p>In the following days, Sophie kept a couple of commitments to see her friends (wishing that they were witches and wizards who could also experience broomsticks, or even that she could just <em>talk<em> to them about flying on one), attended judo club, and took some time to write thank-you notes for a few of her birthday presents; other than that she and her grandfather spent most of week which followed their second ever trip to Diagon Alley reading.

Alongside the obligatory reading material on laws and rules (always a good idea to keep law-breaking to really _important_ occasions where possible, and 'The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy' and 'underage magic restrictions' were right at the top of their reading list), books ostensibly about the recent history of the British magical world got a good deal of their early attention. Sophie and her grandfather wanted to know the 'official' version of what had been going on in magical Britain in recent decades, and get an idea of just what was in print about 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'?

The war which had been ongoing during the seventies and early eighties in magical Britain dominated the history books and was now known in them as 'The Wizarding War' (or as 'The British Wizarding War' abroad). The gang who had been waging it against the Ministry and aurors in a bid to seize control of magical Britain had called themselves 'Death Eaters' and except for their leader their identities had for the most part been secret during the conflict. As for their leader, none of the books which Sophie and her grandfather had acquired bothered to mention his name – they just referred to him as 'You-Know-Who'. Although styled a 'war', much of the conflict had been a gradually escalating guerrilla campaign waged against British Magical Law Enforcement, with occasional terrorist attacks by the Death Eaters on 'muggle-loving politicians' (witch or wizard) or seemingly randomly selected muggles thrown in. Then in the summer of 1980 there had come a pair of huge battles – at Hogwarts and at the Ministry of Magic's London headquarters – on the same day, after which things had gone quiet for a while, before showing signs of starting up again much nastier before. Any hope of a final victory had seemed a long way off; in fact as far as Sophie and her grandfather could make out, it had been a complete surprise to the inhabitants of the magical world when they woke up on the morning of November the first, 1981, to discover that the leader of the Death Eaters had led an attack on James Potter which had resulted in the demise of the selfsame leader and the deaths or capture of sufficient key players in his inner circle to effectively finish things off overnight. Although James Potter had been known to have gone into hiding – possibly because he was a known member of a semi-secret anti-Death Eaters group called 'The Order of the Phoenix' – most witches and wizards hadn't believed that 'You-Know-Who' had _cared_ enough about James Potter and his family to have gone after him personally. Nor had they thought it even remotely likely that James Potter could have brought the fearsome 'You-Know-Who' low. Although James Potter had been the only son of a wealthy family and during his school days a noted quidditch player (quidditch apparently being an aerial sport played by witches and wizards on broomsticks) he was otherwise held to be a wizard of little note.

Various theories consequently abounded as to what exactly _had_ happened that Hallowe'en in 1981 in Godric's Hollow, but since James' daughter, Sophie, was the only known survivor of the Potter family, the general assumption was that she was in some way personally responsible for the final outcome of the evening. Most writers liked the notion that the zigzag scar on the forehead of 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' was a mark left by where she had been struck by a 'Killing Curse' before she caused it to rebound in force upon her enemies whilst being herself unharmed, despite the fact that the 'Killing Curse' was notorious for not rebounding – and always being fatal to living beings it struck. This theory – especially the possibility that the scar might be a result of dubious magic – worried Sophie a great deal, until she was reassured by her grandfather on the topic:

"When I eventually found you that night, you were all bundled up in that invisibility cloak, so I don't see how you _could_ have had anyone aim any 'Killing Curse' at you. You appeared to have had some sort of disagreement with a potted cactus which had fallen off a shelf into your cot during the proceedings of the evening and were quite badly scratched in several places from where you'd been wrestling with it, but I didn't see any signs of fighting in the room you were in that were all over the rest of the house, or see any bodies, dead or otherwise." He smiled a little. "From the damage to your head, I think you must have head-butted that cactus. And I'd say it looked as if it definitely lost the fight."

That was a great relief to Sophie.

"How do they _know_ that I have a scar like this though, and that I got it that night?" Sophie pondered.

"There was someone who said she was a healer – a magical version of a nurse – who arrived on the scene with Moody – who was the policeman with the wooden leg and weird glass eye." Sophie's grandfather said. "Moody insisted she check you over before I took you anywhere… She got a pretty good look at you and waved her wand and tidied you up a bit, repairing a lot of the cactus damage. At least she and the policeman would have known you got the scar that night." He frowned. "I wasn't really paying attention to her. I think she might have said her name was 'Derwent' – possibly Amanda or Candy Derwent – but I had other things on my mind at the time."

"Most people probably couldn't have remembered anything from that long ago." Sophie hurriedly reassured him, in case he thought his inability to produce an exact name might upset her. "So it was Amanda or Candy Derwent, go on…"

"The policeman didn't look the gossiping type, but Healer Derwent looked as if she might be." her grandfather continued. "Not a _malicious_ gossip, but an unable-to-help-herself-but-say-things-to-her-friends kind of gossip. And whichever of them said anything it was probably like Chinese whispers from there."

Irrespective how they'd originated, the outlandish stories they were reading certainly cast considerable illumination on just _why_ some parties might be so interested in dragging Sophie into the magical world and seeing her attend Hogwarts.

* * *

><p>In the end the constant references to 'You-Know-Who' in the books started to get to Sophie.<p>

After coming across 'You-Know-Who' for the umptieth time, Sophie calmly made a photocopy on their home photocopier of the most recent page to offend her with this term, put the duplicate of the page on a pockmarked wooden board, and *stabbed* the page repeatedly with one of the family collection of hunting knives.

"No! I! Do! Not! Know! Who!" Sophie vented her frustration.

Her grandfather looked in her direction and raised an eyebrow.

"You would have thought they could at least mention _somewhere_ the name of the evil wizard who led the attack on Honeysuckle Rest that night." Sophie huffed. "Despite the ridiculous 'Girl-Who-Lived' line writers are so fond of spouting, they still manage to mention _my_ name often enough – even if it does get mangled occasionally to some horror such as 'Sophia' or 'Zoffy'. But _he_ gets his name completely left out of things."

"I doubt his name was anything special." her grandfather looked thoughtful. "James refused to call him 'You-Know-Who' but tended to use what I got the impression were mangled versions of his given name: Things like 'Lord Mouldy-wart', or 'Baron Volgablort'. Selene just used 'that loopy twit' or once 'that loopy Riddle twit'. If it really matters to you, maybe a goblin can tell us when we drop by on Friday."

"Thanks." Sophie said, sagging somewhat. "I at least want to know what the 'loopy twit' was called." She regarded the badly mangled page, pulled the hunting knife out, sheathed it, and underarm flipped it the ten feet into a nearby umbrella stand. It only just made it in. Clearly her accuracy needed work, but still she considered the effort quite good given the thing hadn't been built or balanced for throwing…

* * *

><p>And then there were the rather fanciful illustrations of 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' adorning various books, which annoyed Sophie too, although not to the same extent as the 'You-Know-Who' issue. She made increasingly acerbic comments about them however, until she came across one which just about took the prize for ridiculousness.<p>

"Grandfather. I've got black hair, glowing pink eyes, and _bunches_ in the pictures in this book." Sophie said, a note of complete disgust in her voice. "I mean _bunches_ – come off it; I'd look _such_ a twit with my hair done like that."

Her grandfather cleared his throat meaningfully, no doubt about to cite photographic evidence to the contrary.

"Oh yes, when I was five or six, I looked absolutely _cute_ in them," Sophie hastily added, "but I wouldn't, _now_. And this is _supposed_ to be a picture of me now." She inspected the picture in question more closely. "And I appear to be depicted wearing what I _hope_ is some sort of designer shoulder-bag. Either that or I'm carrying a live poodle for some reason, with its lead draped around my neck."

"Yes, well, perhaps we should be _grateful_ that they don't apparently know what you look like at present, since that at least gives us hope that they've been ignoring us and _not_ spying on us every moment of our lives." her grandfather mildly pointed out.

* * *

><p>The morning of Friday, the ninth of August, saw Sophie and her grandfather back in Diagon Alley at Gringotts for a day-long visit. They were admitted at the side-door they had used on their first visit, and guided by Findnut through the building to a meeting room adjacent to a staff canteen. On the way to the meeting room, Findnut was able to clarify that witches and wizards generally were all but superstitiously terrified of the given name of the wizard who had styled himself 'Lord Voldemort' – hence their tendency to refer to him as 'You-Know-Who', or occasionally as 'He-Who-Must-not-Be-Named'. Rather confusingly, Lord Voldemort's followers had apparently also referred to him as 'the Dark Lord', most likely since he had been the latest wizard in a long history of dubiously motivated practitioners of the magic arts with grandiose ambitions. Findnut also hinted that 'Lord Voldemort' had <em>not<em> been the evil wizard's original name, but that for reasons involving an unresolved estate – and what amounted to a state of ongoing client confidentiality resulting from that – as a Gringotts employee he was unable to comment any further on that matter.

Changing subjects, Sophie's grandfather conversationally remarked to Findnut that the bank was open again, and he hoped that that indicated that progress had been made in catching the thief who had dared to try to rob the bank a couple of weeks earlier? Findnut scowled, and said that witches and wizards were not in such a hurry to put their own houses in order when it was a matter of a crime committed by one of their own against goblins, and that progress was currently slow. Sophie and her grandfather had just enough time to sympathise, before they arrived in the meeting room assigned to their use, and then it was time for Sophie's grandfather to effectively 'hold court'…

* * *

><p>Sophie spent much of the morning in a chair in one corner, reading quietly, whilst her grandfather answered questions from various goblins who came and went, and swapped the occasional anecdote. She was officially 'Sally Templar' for the day, though she was pretty certain word must have spread by now at least amongst the more senior goblins about Miss Sally Templar's previous visit and actual identity. Still, it was probably best to make the most of her relative nonentity whilst she still could. Some of the stories in circulation in print about her were eye-wateringly silly. If Sophie stayed in the magical world she suspected there were going to be a <em>lot<em> of peculiar comments and questions for her to deal with…

It became apparent, as the morning progressed, that the goblins' respect for her grandfather was rapidly increasing. Besides being interested in the tales he told them of his own father he also went into a few of the exploits which he himself had got up to in the days before he became a widower at a relatively early age (and subsequently ended up single-handed raising Sophie's mother – and then a few years later, Sophie). And the goblins had picked up fairly fast that he had a formidable memory for names and faces; not only that, but he could distinguish between and recognise them – apparently something most witches and wizards had trouble doing.

At elevenses time, Sophie was relieved to discover that because of the 'curse breakers' who were human witches and wizards on the Gringotts payroll the adjacent canteen _did_ serve food which she could half-recognise and which was clearly aimed at the human palate. Someone had left instructions too that 'Sally Templar' and Mr. Seamus Tombs weren't to be charged for any food or drink eaten today, whilst here 'lecturing'.

Manager Grabprop popped by at about lunchtime, for a quick discussion of something with Sophie's grandfather, and then approached Sophie.

"Hi. I was sorry to hear you haven't been making much progress catching that thief." she opened the conversation politely and just a touch nervously.

"As you may have heard by now, the official Ministry view appears to be that since no property belonging to a witch or wizard was lost, investigating any inconvenience caused to Gringotts by the actions of any witches and wizards is of low priority for Magical Law Enforcement." Grabprop observed dryly. "Entirely between ourselves, Miss Templar, we _have_ however put at least one ferret down the metaphorical rabbit hole to assist things along. We have made it clear to Albus Dumbledore that unless a highly convincing candidate is at the very least either questioned with veritaserum – which is a truth potion – before the Wizengamot, or delivered into our hands for our _personal_ interrogation by the time a year and a day have passed from the moment the dragons were turned loose, in light of what circumstantial evidence there is Gringotts will hold the institution of Hogwarts itself liable and take all measures considered accordingly appropriate." The elderly goblin's eyes glinted. "He may be a human wand-carrier, but Albus Dumbledore is neither so arrogant nor so foolish as to misunderstand or ignore such a promise from _us_. He assured us we will have a culprit named and justice at least underway by noon on August the first, next year."

"Oooh." said Sophie, unable to help herself for a moment. "That, ummm, must be inconvenient for Dumbledore. Given all his other jobs and duties, I mean."

"The vault the dragons were in was in a vault registered to the school of which he is headmaster, and the individuals seen servicing the vault resembled at least two known Hogwarts members of staff, Mademoiselle Lunefleur and Professor McGonagall. True, the mere appearance of these persons is inconclusive evidence in and of itself given the existence of disguise magic, but they both – if they were indeed two people – seemed well-informed of Hogwarts procedures and doings, and sufficient sand-grains massed together start to resemble a beach. Even Albus Dumbledore concedes it is highly likely that whomever visited Gringotts as part of or preparation for the attempted robbery must have at least had _assistance_ from someone in Hogwarts – and that it is thus in his interest to establish what happened."

Sophie grinned. Hopefully if Dumbledore was busy trying to find the thief for the goblins, it would mean he'd have _less_ time spare to look for her if she failed to turn up at Hogwarts or to otherwise bother her with whatever schemes Mr. Snape had seemed to believe that he might be cooking up. Of course if she didn't show there still might be plenty of other people with time on their hands…

"Well, I'll try to keep this to myself. I don't want to mess up Dumbledore's efforts to help you find that thief."

"In the meantime is there any way in which Gringotts might be of service right now to you, Miss Templar?" the goblin shrewdly asked. Confound it, but Sophie was sure that he _knew_ or at least somehow guessed what was on her mind.

"Please excuse me for perhaps seeming so unpardonably rude as to raise a matter pertaining to what may be a topic of great sensitivity to many goblins." Sophie began, as formally as she could manage. At least one of the books she and her grandfather had recently read had been about goblins, and horribly biased though it had been – written as it was by some doubtless long dead wizard by the name of 'Cuthbert Binns' – it _had_ contained some useful information. Such as that human laws prohibited goblins from carrying or using wands.

"I am, or will be a witch." Sophie drew a deep breath and continued. "I am allowed to carry a wand. I am not allowed to use it for much outside of school premises though, being underage, and if the Ministry _does_ detect me doing anything with it of which they disapprove, I am likely to be punished all the more severely because I live with my grandfather, who in their eyes is little more than another muggle. Do the Ministry's rules pertaining to wand use extend into Gringotts – which I am given to understand is at least partially goblin territory – and if not, would I give offense if I were to attempt to master a few small pieces of magic whilst on the premises?"

She trailed off, not sure if she should add anything else or not. It was a pretty *BIG* favour she was effectively asking, and she could quite understand if Manager Grabprop said 'no' for any reason at all. Right now the goblin was looking her over _very_ carefully.

"The political and diplomatic situation is complex and delicate, Miss Templar, and it is simplest for goblins to ensure that if the Ministry wants to enforce their underage restrictions according to the letter of their law, on Gringotts' premises here in Diagon Alley, that they can do so."

"Oh well: I can't ask you to mess up your relations with the Ministry on my account." Sophie said, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt.

"However, since Gringotts sometimes takes on particularly promising humans as trainee curse-breakers _before_ they are of age, Gringotts is entitled to call itself an educational establishment for the purposes of any witches or wizards undergoing supervised studies of whom we appropriately notify the Ministry." Grabprop continued. "Given that many of their officials appreciate _our_ discretion, as bankers, the Ministry afford us considerable discretion in what they expect us to tell them. So the question, Miss Templar, is whether it is beneficial to Gringotts that the great-niece of Seamus Tombs undergoes supervised studies here?"

Manager Grabprop said this with such feigned indifference that this _had_ to be a vital question, or at least how Sophie responded to it would be. She thought about it a moment and figured an honest answer was probably for the best.

"I don't know." She said. "I'm a human girl who turned eleven at the end of last month who's only known about this world for a couple of weeks, and I have no idea what is and isn't beneficial to Gringotts. I have some idea what might be good for me, but I don't know that that's the same as for Gringotts."

Grabprop looked her up and down for a moment, then nodded to himself.

"Thank-you, Miss Templar. Your candour and lack of arrogance is refreshing." Grabprop said, sounding highly thoughtful now. "It may indeed be that for a while at least, our interests coincide…"

* * *

><p>And that was that. Grabprop sent subordinates for some paperwork, which he ran past Sophie's grandfather, who then signed something, and sent another subordinate to locate a small, softly-spoken young man with dark hair, watery eyes, and a transatlantic accent by the name of 'Bradley Wiggins' to supervise 'Sally Templar'. Her first session, in an adjacent meeting room, trying to do magic with her wand went relatively well, Mr. Wiggins being impressed by the relative speed and ease with which 'Sally' mastered a basic spell to intentionally shoot coloured sparks out of the tip of her wand. He gave her some tips, and recommended she read up on some more advanced magic, such as the basic disarming charm, in case of future such visits.<p>

* * *

><p>That evening, back at home, Sophie and her grandfather concluded it was probably about time to decide if Sophie should go to Hogwarts or if they ought to depart the country before anyone wanting a firm answer from her on the subject as a matter of increasing urgency came looking. They got a flip-chart out and drew up a couple of columns with 'Disadvantages' and 'Advantages' on.<p>

They started with the 'Disadvantages' column, and put in it 'society which throws up dangerous dark wizards', 'questionable attitudes to "outsiders" and other races', 'ludicrous stories about "Girl-Who-Lived" (and society crazy enough to think up a soubriquet like that in the first place)', 'interfering busybodies who stick their fingers in everywhere (and who can use magic to do it, too)', 'no cinemas or televisions obvious', and 'likely to result in being out of contact with friends, since no telephones and Royal Mail deliveries likely hindered'.

In the 'Advantages' column, they put 'friendly, helpful goblins' (although Sophie had wanted it to be 'friendly, helpful, _cute_ goblins'), 'possible fan at Hogwarts, Mr. Snape, (although unclear what his job is, as he never said anything but "dogsbody")', and 'possible chance to practise wand-waving without imposing on goblins too often' (they had a discussion about whether it was appropriate to hyphenate 'wand-waving' in this context and concluded it was).

Then they sat back and looked at the large piece of paper.

"About the only thing which can be said for certain in favour of the magical world is the goblins." Sophie said. "And they're based in Gringotts and I don't know, from what we've seen and heard of them, that there _are_ any in this Hogwarts place."

She glanced at the clock and yawned.

"Oh well, bedtime, grandfather. I'll sleep on it, and maybe things will look clearer in the morning. Goodnight."

She headed off for a quick shower and bed.

* * *

><p>"Grandfather. Your father once broke into a foreign police-station full of policemen looking to arrest him, didn't he?" Sophie asked at breakfast the next morning.<p>

Sophie's grandfather paused in the act of buttering his toast.

"Well according to him most of the police who normally _would_ have been in it were actually out looking for him and one of his friends, but _yes_ he did." Sophie's grandfather said. "It was the quickest and easiest way to deal with another man who'd been getting him into trouble."

Sophie sighed.

"If he could do that, the least I can do is walk into a school full of witches and wizards who've been told all sorts of weird stories about me and which is run by a crazy old war-hero politician who thinks he's a headmaster."

"You're a very brave girl." Sophie's grandfather said.

"I have to keep up the family traditions of taking insanely illogical calculated risks." Sophie said, trying to be funny about it. "And at least this boarding school's only in Scotland…"

They wrote an acceptance letter after breakfast, and since they didn't have a mail owl put it in the post, first-class, to the address Mr. Snape had mentioned. If they didn't hear anything back after several days, they were probably going to have to check with Gringotts for advice on how to proceed further. Sophie's grandfather said that Gringotts probably could have assisted them in contacting Hogwarts faster, but that right now for several tactical and strategic reasons it was probably a good idea to keep it quiet just how well they were getting on with the goblins.

Then, just to be on the safe side, they took the piece of flip-chart paper with the 'Disadvantages' and 'Advantages' list on it, and burnt it to ashes.

"Never leave an unnecessary documentary trail of what your thoughts are, if you might not be happy for other people to know what those thoughts were." Sophie's grandfather dug out one of his old favourite axioms.

That just left the routine stuff to do, such as plan out school shopping supply trips to Diagon Alley, arrange more visits to the goblins, work out what Sophie was going to tell her friends…

In the end she came up with something to the effect that she _hinted_ that it was in fact a special school for espionage recruits which she had been invited to attend, for which reason she was unable to say anything further about it.

"All the exciting stuff happens to you, Sophie. Why?" Carolyn complained at the gathering where Sophie broke the going-away-to-Scotland-and-not-allowed-to-contact-you-or-talk-about-the-specifics-of-what-I-learn news.

"I suppose I get it from my family…" Sophie said, thinking about her mother's side of the family and the notorious great-grandfather at least as much as the stupidly wealthy father she had recently discovered had actually been a wizard with magical powers…

* * *

><p>Apparently someone at Hogwarts knew enough about the normal post to get a letter with a stamp stuck on it (upside down, admittedly) back to Sophie, which confirmed receipt of her acceptance letter, and included a shiny gold foil train ticket, one platform ticket 'for up to four non-student close friends or relatives', and a piece of parchment filled with details about 'The Hogwarts Express', departure time scheduled 10:45 on the morning of Sunday the 1st of September, platform nine-and-three-quarters, King's Cross.<p>

"I don't recall ever seeing a platform nine-and-three-quarters at King's Cross." Sophie's grandfather observed.

"I don't either, grandfather, so if it's like the Leaky Cauldron, and only visible to magical people it must be only open some days of the year." Sophie said. "We'll have to ask the goblins about it."

That went on the list of things to check with the goblins on their next visit.

The Hogwarts Express might set out from King's Cross, but – according to the information accompanying the tickets – before it finally terminated at Hogsmeade (the station for and settlement closest to Hogwarts), it also apparently called at 'Crewe, Carnforth, Carlisle and Carstairs'. Students wishing to embark at any of these latter stations were directed to 'contact the school to make special arrangements' – although all new students were recommended to try and catch their first train from King's Cross to have 'as long as possible to meet new people'.

Since Sophie and her grandfather lived in London, King's Cross made the most sense for Sophie to embark at anyway.

* * *

><p>September the first and the Hogwarts Express might well be a couple of weeks away from the day on which Sophie received her ticket, but there was a <em>lot<em> to get into that fortnight. Although, over the course of their trips to Diagon Alley to date, she and her grandfather had by now collected everything on the list of 'required' equipment, books and other things, that had arrived with Sophie's Hogwarts invitation – apart from a telescope (they'd done some quick maths and worked out that the shops in Diagon Alley charged two or three times what a decent non-magical shop would charge for a similar telescope) – they had a number of orders for additional customised equipment placed with the goblins they were now waiting on, they were still looking for additional useful reading material on the wizarding world, they were looking at the possibilities of things to wear for occasions where school uniform was not appropriate, and Sophie's grandfather was now cultivating Argus Filch as a useful acquaintance and looking into methods by which he could contact the goblins without Sophie's participation. Sophie's grandfather also wanted to practise getting into the Leaky Cauldron (if that was at all possible) without Sophie there to literally walk him in by the hand, Sophie still had judo classes and the last fencing class of the summer to deal with, she had to carry on seeing her friends, and there was reading to do and further trips to Gringotts to get in.

Oh, and Hogwarts apparently used feather quills dipped in ink to write with, so Sophie had to practise writing like that (and how to cut a quill properly).

Rather irksomely, broomsticks were on a special first-year only section of a list of 'banned' items. Apparently they weren't to be trusted with them, so it looked like the Didsley special (and the Comet) would be staying in Sophie's bedroom here at home. She sighed at that thought.

And then, eight days before September the first, whilst checking '_Hogwarts, a History_', Sophie and her grandfather discovered that electrical items didn't function in the vicinity of Hogwarts, which prompted a frantic search for alternatives for some additional equipment which Sophie _had_ been intending to take such as a pocket calculator and digital wristwatch. She acquired a windup pocket-watch, a nocturnal so she could reset the watch at night if necessary, a pile of log-tables (and took a crash-course in how to use them), an abacus, a slide-rule, and some other odds and ends.

* * *

><p>Four days before September the first, Sophie's grandfather made a major break-through in his reading up on prominent families of 'wizarding Britain', and correlating his findings with information from the non-magical criminal underworld. He discovered a wealthy family of witches and wizards who backed the wrong side in the Wizarding War and in consequence were all but destitute by the end of 1981, with the ancestral home in the hands of a ministry official and scarcely a small sack of galleons to call their own. In desperation, they had moved into the non-magical world and set themselves up as international fences of dubiously provenanced art works in their endeavour to rebuild their finances – and they had succeeded wildly. They now lived in a very expensive Victorian mansion in South Kensington, and their not insignificant fortune was spread around banks in both the magical <em>and<em> non-magical world. According to the Gringotts goblins, though the goblins themselves had had _some_ suspicions about the source of this particular family's more recent income, their fellow witches and wizards had just assumed they'd had a bank vault full of treasure which had somehow escaped the attention of both sides in the war.

This information represented considerable potential leverage, and Sophie's grandfather intended to carry on discreet investigations into the family in question once Sophie had left for Hogwarts. The family in question had a child of approximately Sophie's age which could prove useful for Sophie if that child happened to be in this year's Hogwarts intake too.

* * *

><p>On the twenty-ninth of August, Sophie and her grandfather took their last trip of the month to Gringotts to see the goblins. By the time their visit was over, between the endeavours of Mr. Wiggins and Mr. Ryan Murchison (the latter was a slightly vacuous eyed young man with a west country accent but a fierce mastery of 'charms', whom she had studied under on one occasion when Mr. Wiggins had been busy elsewhere) Sophie had mastered – in addition to the spell to shoot sparks – a disarming charm (<em>expelliarmus<em>) and a counterspell (_finite_). She had been practising a shielding charm (_protego_) too, but although a highly useful spell, it was rather a tricky one to get the hang of, and out of the several score times she'd tried it so far, it had only worked – and that half-heartedly – once. She was clearly going to have to practise it a great deal more once at Hogwarts.

Sophie hoped that at least with the disarm and counterspell up her sleeve, she might be able to at least hold her own in a magical fight so long as she was faster on the cast than someone else. The Hogwarts school rules – which Sophie and her grandfather had studied extensively by now – made it clear that magical fights between pupils were _not_ supposed to take place except in the format of formal duels supervised by teachers, but the fact that the subject was covered in some depth (including several pages of guidelines regarding how pupils might be punished) strongly suggested that such fights happened occasionally anyway. It was also apparent that there were numerous loopholes in the Underage Magic Restrictions which families with at least one adult with a wand could exploit like crazy – it seemed certain that the children of such families could probably practise magic non-stop from the moment that they first obtained their wands, so long as they didn't do anything _too_ stupid such as showing off in public.

* * *

><p>The last couple of days of August consisted of Sophie packing her trunk, repacking her trunk, sitting on the lid of her trunk and futilely trying to squash everything down, taking everything out and wondering if the nocturnal, 'Monopoly' set, and practice fencing foil had <em>really<em> been such a good idea, employing a canvas bag as backup, and finally getting everything just about neatly readied to go to Hogwarts. She also said goodbye to her friends, stocked up on postage stamps in the hope that someone could get mail into the conventional post system for her, and practised drawing her wand from the goblin-crafted sheath she'd had made for it.

Finally, before retiring to bed on August the thirty-first, she checked a horoscope her grandfather had had a friend who claimed to be a psychic or something like that draw up for her.

Apparently over the next school year a 'two-faced man' was going to cause her trouble, but 'the protective love of a parent' was going to obviate problems. She was also going to make 'new friends and enemies', discover 'something more precious than gold', and 'achieve great success as a high-flier'.

In other words it was the usual sort of bunkum that her grandfather's friend cooked up. Nonetheless it successfully amused her and relieved her stress, sending her to bed in a good mood to dream of cauldrons and broomsticks and an elderly wizard with long white beard, blue eyes and half-moon spectacles who stood on a pedestal labelled 'JANUS' whilst a red squirrel sat in a cherry tree outside a honeysuckle covered cottage and a man who looked like photos she'd seen of her great-grandfather stood in the shadow of a churchyard yew, unmoving as a statue, a number of wands thrust point down into the soft earth behind him.

* * *

><p>Author Notes:<p>

Well that was tricky. The Gringotts scenes (particularly the conversations) ended up not quite playing the way I originally envisioned, but hopefully they work...

The house in Weybridge (with the secret room) features in at least _The Higher Finance_. The mention Sophie makes of her great-grandfather breaking into a foreign police station is a reference to the events of _The Saint's Getaway_ (originally published as _Getaway_).

Turning to trying to explain some of the liberties I've taken in adapting or expanding on what is in canon in this chapter:

Bristle's Brooms, with Frank and his dad, Caesar, came into existence since I wanted a specialist broom shop as that would seem to me the more logical place for Sophie and her grandfather to get an opinion on a pair of brooms than a Quidditch shop which clearly sold brooms only as part of their product line. And at the time I was writing none of the internet sites I checked named any 'canon' broom shops on the Alley.

I thought it would be interesting to depict Scrimgeour as a man with a private foible for rare and expensive brooms. He doesn't get much space in canon, and what words he does get seem to me to be mostly spent indicating that he's an official viewpoint on the 'wrong' side of the Harry/Headmaster axis, with little development of him as a person. This universe's Scrimgeour has a hobby which brings him into contact with Sophie and her grandfather before Sophie even goes to Hogwarts; he initially sees them as nothing more than an opportunity to acquire a unique item (either for his private collection, or at least for a part of the Ministry where he'll be able to access it regularly, although note he _does_ offer a token 'finder's fee' rather than just try to confiscate it outright), but he changes direction so fast when Sophie's grandfather pulls out the "Grandfather of your 'Girl-Who-Lived'" line because he reckons there's a good chance that Sophie's grandfather is telling the truth (he's an auror, of some experience of judging characters, and used to crazy stories occasionally turning out to be true). Obtaining a rare broom comes a distant second to _not_ pissing off someone well connected to someone as potentially important, and once Scrimgeour knows who Sophie's grandfather is, it takes him very little time to figure out who Sophie likely is, too. He plays along with them since he figures that if this _is_ Sophie, she's likely using another name for a good reason – such as not wanting to be mobbed by the public. As a final note for now on the topic of Scrimgeour, I'm aware that canon Scrimgeour _is_ depicted as having a limp, although I'm not sure when or how he acquired it. The Scrimgeour in this alternate universe does not have any limp yet.

Canon Sirius has his flying motorbike, and it seemed logical to me for wealthy, quidditch-playing, bad-boy James Potter to have commissioned someone to make him a very _special_ broom. And unlike canon Harry, Sophie has a grandfather who happens to retrieve a number of things from the residence in Godric's Hollow (such as the brooms), along with her. (As an aside, Sophie's grandfather arrived on the scene that night in an imitation police car, prepared to claim to be a plain clothes detective if necessary, which meant he had the cargo space to retrieve both Sophie and the pile of 'secured' odds and ends.) It also seemed logical to me for James Potter to have paid a maverick genius broom-maker to make him his '_vroooom_stick', for which I took the liberty of inventing such a maverick genius – in this case, one Icarus Didsley. (The 'Didsley' briefly mentioned in the chapter titled 'At the Leaky Cauldron' is a distant squib relation of this Leonardo da Vinci of broomstick creators – basically because by the time I noticed I'd used the surname 'Didsley' before, I'd become too attached to the name 'Icarus Didsley' to want to make up something different, and it seemed a bit hard on the readers to go back and change the name of the dog-owner in the earlier chapter.) Icarus Didsley died at some point towards the end of the wizarding war, the 'Potter' broom being one of the last ones which he made.

I'm not sure how far underage magic restrictions would apply in theory and in practice in Gringotts, so I've sort of hand-waved the issue with Grabprop's mention that the situation's complex and delicate. Whilst I doubt the goblins like being told what can and can't be done in Gringotts by the Ministry, I doubt that they enjoy most underage witch or wizards running around the halls waving their wands either, rubbing witch and wizard privileges and rights in goblin faces. I think the goblins would probably be happy with the idea of the Ministry punishing underage witches and wizards for using their wands in Gringotts unless the goblins happen to look favourably on or to find those witches and wizards useful. For now Grabprop considers Sophie potentially highly useful, and her grandfather (since he's not a wizard) as practically an honorary goblin.

The spells Sophie has been practising at Gringotts have given me considerable pause for thought. I find it difficult to be certain what would be considered a 'normal' age for a witch or wizard to learn specific spells when it comes to 'defence' given that canon Hogwarts can't hold down a defence teacher for more than a year – and that some of those who _do_ turn up to teach the subject are either fraudulent or do not have the students' best interests at heart when it comes to teaching them magic. The fact that canon Harry is throwing around what is considered advanced NEWT level magic in the shape of a corporeal patronus by the end of his third year seems to me to establish that some pupils _are_ capable of mastering magic which would be considered ordinarily too advanced for them, if they practise hard enough. It seemed reasonable to me for Sophie to get at least got a grip on using _expelliarmus_ and _finite_ thanks to her sessions of intensive study (one-on-one) under curse-breakers at Gringotts, and to know the theory of _protego_. She has some experience of making controlled movements with a held object (albeit a larger, differently balanced one) from her fencing lessons after all, though it's going to take a _lot_ of practise before she gets anywhere close to being able to reliably cast _protego_ under 'classroom conditions', let alone in a duel situation.

Finally, yes the Hogwarts Express in this alternate universe _does_ stop at more places than the canon version. Given the inconvenience for those without access to the wonders of Floo travel to get to King's Cross if they live any distance from the capital, and the additional annoyance such a trip would cause to those already living closer to Hogwarts then to London, it made sense to me to add some more stops. Carstairs is the last call before Hogsmeade since from the school's perspective pupils are supposed to spend _some_ time getting to know one another and transitioning in/out of a school mindset – from the writer's perspective, though, I wasn't too sure which side of the Scottish Highlands Hogwarts is located on, and Carstairs was about as far north as I could find a stop which made sense to me without committing to Hogwarts being on one side of the Highlands or the other!

Update:

Oops! Development regarding the Hogwarts Express (what I get for not checking railway lines). See next chapter for more...


	6. Before the Train

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had a couple of sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans).

Further Note: Any characters with canon counterparts may have personalities and take actions at variance with what they would be and do in canon. This is an alternate universe which was impacted by The Saint. I repeat and emphasise: characters with canon counterparts may be considerably different from their canon counterparts.

Translation note: The 'boot' of a car is the rear luggage compartment, which I gather in other countries may be known as a 'trunk'.

'BR' is short for British Rail, the corporation which ran the railways at the time.

Further Further Note (3rd August, 2012): The first chapter of 'Gearing Up' and the one-shot 'Coming, Ready or Not' contain material supplementary to this chapter. I've dealt with some slight revisions/corrections in this and earlier chapters, and I hope to have the next chapter of this story up within about a week. (15th August, 2012: Now up.)

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><p><em>In which a Hogwarts professor is taken aback by Saints Tombs and Potter, Sophie's grandfather becomes reacquainted with an old flame, and several other meetings occur before the Express departs St. Pancras<em>

The first of September being a Sunday the roads ought to be clear, but Sophie and her grandfather had got up early in anticipation of possible complications which questions to the goblins during August about platform nine-and-three-quarters had brought to light. They were in the middle of a leisurely breakfast, when there came a frantic pounding from downstairs at the front door.

Sophie's grandfather (already dressed for the day in a shabby but genteel tweed suit) wandered off to check who it was, whilst Sophie grumbled at a possible delay _now_ of all times, hurriedly rinsed and dried her hands, consolidated her half-eaten boiled egg and toast soldiers onto a tray to accompany her, and abandoned the kitchen for the 'workroom', trying not to leave a trail of crumbs and egg-shell as she did so. She fiddled with the various items of electronic equipment positioned in her new location, and resumed her breakfast, as she listened via a remote microphone to her grandfather quiz the person (who sounded like a woman) on the doorstep. After a few moments, Sophie realised it seemed to be that Hogwarts professor they'd met at The Leaky Cauldron that first time at the end of July, and occasional accompanying noises suggested she had a baby or toddler of some description with her. Given who it _apparently_ was, Sophie's grandfather was being extra-cautious. This was the second ever known witch or wizard other than Sophie to show up here, and since Mr. Snape's visit, Sophie and her grandfather had discovered that there were such things as polyjuice potion, metamorphmagi, and various other highly effective magical means of physical disguise.

The professor was saying something about 'not on the doorstep', meaning that what she wanted to say was private, and Sophie could almost _feel_ her grandfather considering the woman and weighing what he could see and had just heard.

Finally he said:

"Well if that's the case, I suppose you'd better come in."

Sophie started to automatically check the calendar then remembered the date, noted that her grandfather had used the word 'case' and 'suppose' in that order, and with a sigh of relief, switched the equipment off, collected up her tray, and headed back into the kitchen.

She was seated again, doing her best to look as if nothing had just been going on, when her grandfather entered the kitchen accompanied by the red-headed professor, who had indeed brought a baby with her.

"Good morning Sophie." the professor said.

"Good morning Professor Snape." Sophie couldn't remember the woman's first name, but could recall that she was Mr. Snape's wife, so she must be Mrs. Snape, therefore Professor Snape. Well probably.

It was a relief to her when the woman did not disagree with her diagnosis.

"There's been a slight hitch." the woman said, sounding embarrassed. "The school and the ministry have both been trying to owl you, but the birds don't seem to be getting through, and the past week both the headmaster _and_ the deputy have tried to contact you, but couldn't seem to find this house. And, umm, Sev's rather busy today with his last-minute rousing speech to the house-elves and other start-of-year preparations, and it was too late to put anything in the post and hope it got here and this is something of a mini-crisis, so they sent me. There was a misprint on the tickets issued this year. The Hogwarts Express doesn't go from platform nine-and-three-quarters, King's Cross, but platform three, St. Pancras. The time and date are right, but it hasn't used King's Cross since the end-of-term train in July '88."

"We know." said Sophie's grandfather calmly. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Uhh, you _know_?" Professor Snape stared, gaping like a goldfish for a moment. Then she snapped her mouth shut firmly.

"Crewe and Carnforth were added to the list of calls in the school year which started in 1987, along with the restaurant car serving lunch and the practice of going double-header over Shap." Sophie recited between mouthfuls, eager to demonstrate that they did _indeed_ know. "Whomever put the stations on the list neglected to pay attention to where the railway lines actually ran though, and for twelve months the Hogwarts Express continued to use King's Cross as the London terminus, but had to run along the Trent Valley via Stoke. That added well over an hour for London travellers to each journey, and – after many complaints – for the next school year the Hogwarts Express London terminus was switched to St. Pancras, from which the Express could run practically straight up the West Coast Main Line. And it's run to and from there ever since." She finished with her egg. "The Express is steam-hauled, pulled by locomotives owned and maintained by the goblins. Steam is used since more modern locomotives with electrical components are unreliable in areas of strong magical wards such as platform three on a Hogwarts Express day. The goblins take care of renting the platform at St. Pancras for each Express, and ensure the platform is securely warded so that people who aren't witches and wizards ignore the Express and pupils when they're there. The Wizengamot keeps on discussing building a special platform at St. Pancras but the Ministry doesn't like the thought of spending all that money in one go."

"Nobody had given us any instructions on how to get to platform nine-and-three-quarters and I thought it was a _bit_ odd a train going through Crewe from King's Cross, so we checked." Sophie's grandfather added, by way of explanation. "We were advised of the true departure point, given a brief lesson on Hogwarts Express railway history, and advised that some cheapskate at the school or ministry had probably tried to save money this year by issuing an old batch of unused tickets but not done the job of altering them properly. Are you sure you won't have a cup of tea?"

"Oh right, yes please, milk, two sugars." Professor Snape said, still in something of a daze. "You're, umm, very well organised and capable of showing initiative, I see."

"We're Saints Tombs and Potter, and it's not very Saintly to have idle hands." Sophie's grandfather said. He handed her a cup of tea. "Is there anything else?"

"Some of the owls which didn't get through to you were also carrying offers to Sophie of an auror escort to St. Pancras and on the Express if you felt the need for it." Professor Snape said. "It's probably too late to get aurors over here right now, but I can see you to the station myself, and we could probably find a couple to act as minders on the Express if you wanted, as I gather there's a heavy presence expected at the station."

"Why would I need an auror escort?" Sophie asked.

"Because you're 'The-Girl-Who-Lived', and there could be bad guys looking for you." Professor Snape said. "At least that's what Amelia Bones says she's worried about. She's the head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Has there been anything in magical newspapers about me in the past couple of days or something?" Sophie asked. "Because when we last went to Diagon Alley, witches and wizards in general seemed to still quite happily think 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' had glowing eyes, a magical menagerie of pets following her around, and looked not very much at all like me. Unless they already know otherwise, I can't think of a faster way to attract attention to the fact that Sophie Theresa Potter is 'The-Girl-With-The-Silly-Nickname' than by being the only girl on the train sandwiched between a couple of aurors all the time."

"You wouldn't be the only person – there are other important students this year, at least _one_ of whom _will_ have auror escorts on the train." Professor Snape said. "I can understand if you feel it might make you a source of undue attention, Sophie, but as your legal guardian, your grandfather really ought to have the final… say… Excuse me. Someone wants their breakfast. I thought this might happen, which is why I couldn't leave him…"

The baby Professor Snape had brought with her was stirring, wriggling and making noises which apparently meant 'Feed me! Feed me!'

Professor Snape was distracted by other matters for the remainder of the time it took Sophie to complete her breakfast, and she was able to escape to get washed and changed without further discussion on the subject of aurors. When Sophie returned to the kitchen, no longer wearing pyjamas and slippers but now outfitted in her best white blouse, a dark grey pleated skirt, shiny black shoes and a pink shell-suit top, she found her grandfather had an obstinate expression on his face, and Professor Snape was looking exasperated.

"The professor has agreed that there will be no aurors attached to you on this trip, and that the school will discuss it with yourself, whomever your head of house is, and with either me or anyone who may replace me as your legal guardian before trying to assign aurors for any future trips before you turn seventeen." Sophie's grandfather said. "Since we aren't on the floo network, she has accepted the offer of a lift with us to St. Pancras station, where they apparently have a floo-connection for the day and she can get back to Hogwarts."

Sophie was highly doubtful that Professor Snape actually _needed_ a lift to St. Pancras, and suspected that this was an 'everyone-saving-face' reason invented for her to at least accompany them to the vicinity of the station.

The trouble was, with the Professor along, Sophie suspected it might be rather a squash in the car she knew her grandfather had wanted to use today.

* * *

><p>The drive to St. Pancras in the old grey-blue Vauxhall Viva (with the fake rust patches and peeling paintwork) was one of mostly uneasy silences, broken occasionally by some baby noise emanating from the child Professor Snape had brought with her. Professor Snape and her child were in the front passenger seat where Sophie <em>ought<em> to have been sitting, next to Sophie's grandfather, and Sophie was squashed on the back seat next to her trunk (which unlike the canvas bag was too big to go in the boot), clutching her favourite potted spider plant. (Whilst _pets_ at Hogwarts were usually restricted to toads, cats, or owls, there hadn't been anything in the school-rules that Sophie or her grandfather had been able to find against taking non-magical plants.) If they planned to do this trip in this car another time, they were evidently going to have to get a roof-rack, in case other unexpected passengers showed up.

Professor Snape clearly thought that Sophie and her grandfather were reckless idiots for _not_ wanting the equivalent of a pair of unknown heavy-duty magical policemen accompanying Sophie for what should be a many hours long train journey. In contrast Sophie and her grandfather were of the opinion that it _was_ reckless idiocy to be around a pair of unknown heavy-duty magical policemen for that length of time. For all that they knew Scrimgeour (who had turned out to be a halfway decent human being once one got past his desire to acquire rare brooms) might be the exception rather than the rule.

Plus, umm, aurors were _policemen_. Three quarters of an hour in Sophie's company, and if they weren't her best friends then they'd likely be practically champing at the bit to try and lock her up for some reason – any reason. Policemen couldn't help themselves but react the one way or the other to descendents of Simon Templar – even the policemen who claimed not to know who Simon Templar was, or that he had even had descendents for that matter. It was some sort of inherited gift, like magic.

A whole train journey in such company was just _asking_ for trouble.

"The worst thing about this is that my husband, who is usually the most level-headed Slytherin that I know, is going to think that this is some great lark and that the pair of you are absolutely brilliant to do things this way." Professor Snape said stiffly, as they dropped her (and baby) off at the station entrance prior to going to find a parking space. "Merlin help me, I hope he turns out to be right…"

"Note, Sophie, that that woman clearly _cares_ deeply about the safety of pupils." Sophie's grandfather said to Sophie as he subsequently zigzagged the Vauxhall around the mostly empty car-park looking for a spot which met his (on this occasion) highly exacting expectations of a space. "If anything moderately dangerous _does_ turn up, she seems likely to be a suitable member of staff to alert, unless the crisis at hand seems likely to compromise her in some way."

He picked a seemingly random space from a block of empty spaces, swung the car into it with great precision, stepped on the brake, and put the handbrake on.

"And if something _insanely_ dangerous shows up?" Sophie asked, adjusting her hair one last time in the driver's mirror as best she could before pulling on a baseball cap to conceal the one means of identifying her most of magical Britain could actually rely upon.

"Oh well, you'll just have to use your judgement, assemble a group of friends, and demonstrate to it that it really should have found a different educational establishment to bother." her grandfather said. He let the engine die. "But Sophie: do try _not_ to get any friends you may make killed. The death of a friend in an escapade is distinctly unpleasant, and many young people are a lot more fragile than they may say and think that they are."

* * *

><p>Sophie had been through all the major London stations on one occasion or another and, as she and her grandfather paused on the threshold to take in the scene in the ticket hall, there didn't seem to be anything unusual about St. Pancras this morning – or at least not obviously so here. True, there was a board on a stand next to the ticket barrier for platform three with 'HOGWARTS EXPRESS' chalked up on it in big white letters, but that didn't seem exactly odd, nor the middle-aged woman perched on a stool at that barrier, with her nose in a book. She was a redhead, wearing a BR uniform, and somewhat plumper than Professor Snape (whom she clearly was not).<p>

Actually, it was _slightly_ weird that what Sunday morning travellers were about didn't seem to heed the entrance to platform three (or to the adjacent platform) or the sedentary guardian thereof. Sophie's grandfather squinted at the barrier to platform three whilst the hand not occupied with Sophie's spider-plant and canvas bag was dipped in his pocket. He shook his head several times.

"I only see the entry to platform three when I'm holding the platform ticket." he said to Sophie. "It's like The Leaky Cauldron otherwise."

"I wonder if the platform ticket would let you see The Leaky Cauldron, or if it only works here for platform three?" Sophie speculated.

Sophie's grandfather had managed – out of several attempts without Sophie leading him in by the hand – to get into The Leaky Cauldron _once_ when they'd been experimenting with that in August. He'd amused the patrons of The Leaky Cauldron no end in his efforts to do so, and actually impressed several of them when he _had_ made it over the threshold the one time.

In a dire emergency he could probably get in unaided. He was by now sufficiently well known to several of the regulars that they might even be willing to assist 'That Crazy Muggle Idiot Tombs' in.

"I'll investigate that if they don't collect it off me on the way out." he replied.

They made their way across the ticket-hall floor, Sophie determinedly hauling her trunk (which a goblin artisan had fitted strategically positioned wheels to) and her grandfather carrying her other luggage.

The redheaded woman glanced up on hearing the squeak of the wheels of Sophie's trunk.

She did a double take at the trunk.

"That's the first time I've seen a _trunk_ with wheels." the woman at the barrier said.

"We thought permanent wheels would be useful for a number of reasons, not least situations where a luggage trolley wasn't available." Sophie's grandfather said.

The woman made an unconvinced 'mmming' noise and closed and put down her book. Sophie glimpsed the title which appeared to be _Slaying the Seattle Sasquatch_ – the author purportedly one 'Gilderoy. R. Lockhart'. There was a moving photo of some reasonably well groomed blond haired bloke on the back, smiling and posing over the body of an unmoving yeti-like creature, and a review of 'ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM GREAT LOCKHART!'

"Tickets please." the woman said.

Sophie produced her train ticket, and her grandfather produced his platform ticket. The woman inspected the tickets, then produced a clipboard with several sheets of names on.

"Name?" she looked at Sophie.

Sophie had no idea if she could trust this woman and suddenly felt rather painfully exposed.

"Sally Templar." she said. "First year student. If my name's _not_ on the lists, it might be an idea to contact auror Rufus Scrimgeour about it. He, umm, knows about me."

The woman grumbled, and checked the lists, then from somewhere produced a quill, dripping with ink, and ticked something off the list.

"Go on through, Miss Templar." she said.

Sophie _somehow_ managed not to look absolutely gobsmacked.

"Grandfather." she hissed out of the corner of her mouth as they walked through the ticket barrier. "Is this something you fixed up somehow?"

"No, and since Professor Snape didn't mention it, it seems to me more likely the doing of Gringotts or of Rufus Scrimgeour. Unless there really _is_ a Sally Templar who's a witch starting at Hogwarts this year."

And then they were on platform three.

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><p>There were several dozen men and women in the regulation splotchy patterned 'Crouch grey' cloaks of aurors on public duty grouped near the entrance to the platform, apparently having some sort of speech or briefing. A number of them glanced at Sophie and her grandfather as they passed, before returning their attention to their own business. Several dozen yards further down the platform a number of boys and girls who looked to be senior pupils and were actually in Hogwarts school uniform were in another small knot holding a discussion or briefing of their own.<p>

There was no sign of any train on platform three. Well it _was_ well over an hour before it was due to depart. It was hardly a surprise that it wasn't here yet.

Sophie parked her trunk, turned it onto one side and sat down on it. (They had made sure Sophie's trunk was one sturdy enough for such use, when shopping for trunks.) A few moments later her grandfather joined her, putting down the canvas bag and her spider plant.

"What name am I supposed to give if anyone asks – in case there _is_ a Sally Templar attending Hogwarts this year?" Sophie fretted. She had no idea how she was supposed to handle a situation like this. "I don't want to pretend to be another pupil, or not at the start of a term."

Her grandfather reflected a couple of moments.

"Probably best to go with 'Sophie Theresa'." he pronounced. "Practically nothing we've read listed your middle name – just that one rather obscure book on 'ancient and noble families' – and when it comes out who you _actually_ are, you can point out you were being truthful about your name but you just omitted the surname because you didn't want a fuss. Which you don't."

Sophie thought about her grandfather's recommendation, from several angles, and decided it seemed to be pretty sound.

"Thank-you." she said, feeling relieved. "That seems perfect."

Her grandfather smiled.

"I was thinking of suggesting it anyway. You're possibly going to be living with and studying alongside some of the people you meet today for maybe upwards of half a dozen years, and it's probably not a good idea to give them an impression right from the word go that they can't believe anything you say."

Sophie reached for her canvas bag, unzipped it, and began to rummage through it, to retrieve her wand. Platform three, St. Pancras, was sufficiently magically warded on Hogwarts Express days that the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was of no concern right now so long as passengers on other platforms were left alone, and the moment the train _did_ arrive, platform three and the train would count as extensions of Hogwarts, so underage magic restrictions would cease to apply.

"We have 'incoming'." Sophie's grandfather cleared his throat.

Indeed, a boy and a girl had peeled away from the knot of senior pupils and were headed for Sophie and her grandfather. The girl had curly blonde hair and the boy reddish hair and freckles. Each had a shiny badge with a 'P' on it pinned on their robes, the girl's badge being bronze and the boy's being silver.

"The train's not here yet." the girl said, in a slightly officious voice, as the pair came within conversational range. "You're early. It doesn't usually arrive until about half nine."

"I can see it's not here yet." Sophie's grandfather said. "You'd be two of the school prefects, right?"

Sophie had retrieved her wand in its goblin-crafted sheath and was busy buckling it onto her belt now.

"Yes sir." the redhead boy said. "Percy Weasley, fifth form Slytherin prefect."

"Penelope Clearwater, fifth form Ravenclaw prefect." the other added.

Hogwarts pupils were divided up amongst four different 'houses': 'Gryffindor', 'Hufflepuff', 'Ravenclaw' and 'Slytherin' – the houses taking their names from the four school founders. Each house had a fifth, sixth, and seventh year boy prefect and girl prefect Sophie recalled from her reading. Along with the head-boy and head-girl the prefects were supposed to help enforce school rules and ensure the safety of all pupils. Presumably they were here so early so they were in place to supervise and assist once families and pupils started to arrive.

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley and Miss Clearwater." Sophie's grandfather stood up and shook hands with each of them. "Mr. Seamus Tombs, and this is my granddaughter."

"And you are?" Penelope glanced at Sophie.

"Sophie." Sophie said and hesitated a moment. She had buckled her wand onto her belt now. "Sophie Theresa."

Percy had twitched and looked excited at the 'Sophie', but deflated slightly at the mention of 'Theresa'.

"There's a very _famous_ Sophie due at Hogwarts so I've heard, this year:" Percy said conversationally. "'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. If you're lucky you might end up in the same house as her, or at least sharing lessons. I'm afraid it's unlikely that I'll see much of her except at meals. Beating dark wizards makes her sound distinctly Gryffindor material."

"There are children from important foreign families starting this year too, Percy." Penelope reassured him. "Maybe you'll get one of them in your house. There's a German boy from a _very_ well thought of continental family that usually home-schools, and a member of the Russian nobility – and even a prince from the middle-east they're saying."

"Hence the auror presence, I take it?" Sophie's grandfather glanced at the group by the barrier.

"True." Penelope nodded. "It's a bit nerve-wracking, with several dozen of the ministry's finest on duty this morning, to be honest, Mr. Tombs. It's the first time we've ever seen a presence like this. I don't know if they've received a tip-off about a specific threat, or if this is going to become a regular feature of Express days now, with such important people attending Hogwarts. Now, is there any way in which we can assist you or your granddaughter?"

"Not at the moment, thank-you." Sophie's grandfather said.

The two prefects nodded politely, and said goodbye for now, and wandered back to their group.

Sophie looked up and down the platform. There seemed to be something of a lull in things right now, but it probably wouldn't be long before something started happening.

"Best to sort the luggage labels out right now." Sophie's grandfather said, producing a set of adhesive labels and a biro from a pocket. "Since you're going with 'Sophie Theresa', we can put that on as your name, and anyone official from the school who checks the luggage _should_ be able to figure out we left the surname off. Your letter from the school was addressed to your full name, after all."

He filled out one label in neat handwriting with 'Sophie Theresa, 1st year (1991), Hogwarts School', peeled off the backing, and slapped it on the trunk in a prominent place.

Then he filled out another, and to Sophie's bemusement slapped it on the ceramic pot of her spider plant.

"In case you end up becoming separated from it." he explained. "The instructions we were supplied about the Express do indicate that _all_ luggage should be separately identified."

Then he wrote another, and put it on her canvas bag.

* * *

><p>At nine thirty-four by Sophie's new windup pocket-watch (today sitting in a pocket of her blouse), a remote whistle was heard, and at nine thirty-five, reversing into the platform hauling a long train, a large, powerful-looking, gleaming black locomotive pulled up in a cloud of steam and smoke. It brought with it the scents and sounds of the era before electrical and diesel power took over haulage on the British railway network, and prompted Sophie's grandfather to adopt a distinctly nostalgic look. A name-plaque on the side of the locomotive read <em>Star of the Depths<em>.

"That's a BR standard class 9F." Sophie's grandfather said, as several goblins dismounted from the footplate and set about uncoupling the locomotive so they could presumably run it back around to the front of the train. "Or at least it looks like one. I'd be surprised if they haven't modified it a _bit_ from the BR design, given the skills goblins have in metalworking." He fished a small manual-wind camera out of a pocket, and took a couple of snaps.

Locomotive uncoupled, the goblins scrambled back into the cab, and as they went, Sophie could have sworn that one of them gave her a wink. The locomotive slowly began to reverse away from the train.

* * *

><p>With the arrival of the train, the aurors had broken up from their huddle and were circulating now, patrolling individually, or prowling in pairs. Sophie had tried to see if Rufus Scrimgeour was present amongst their number – as much because he at least had met her before and would probably recognise her – but she hadn't yet seen him around. Maybe he was somewhere else. She doubted that every auror in the country was here today.<p>

One of the aurors _did_ however spot them – or at least Sophie's grandfather – and did a double-take, frowned, then homed in at great speed.

"Simeon!" the woman hailed him, quite loudly given the clanking and chuffing noises in the background as the locomotive manoeuvred. "You never wrote!"

She had dark hair and eyes and looked to be maybe thirty something.

"You never gave me your address!" Sophie's grandfather replied once she was in range for relatively normal conversation. "Or mentioned that you were a witch for that matter."

"International Statute", the woman shrugged. "Which knowing you you're familiar with inside out, if you're on this platform with a young lady with a trunk whom I take it _is_ a witch."

"Ah, yes. Sophie. This is Trixiebelle. I knew her for a time at the end of the sixties when she was fresh out of some boarding school she never named, which I'd guess now was Hogwarts. Except I have no proof that her name _is_ Trixiebelle."

"As I have no proof that you are actually 'Simeon Turtle'." the auror laughed. "You know: I got in _terrible_ trouble with my family over you. My father disinherited me. My aunt had a fit, and blasted my name off the official family tree." She shrugged. "Good riddance to them. They were dull as dishwater."

"Is she one of your old friends?" Sophie asked her grandfather.

"Sort of. She was a romantic interest for a while whilst I was bringing up Selene. She was the closest I came to ever remarrying, though Trixie is a _little_ bit spicy on the palate…"

"You old crook." the auror seemed amused. "I wish criminals in the magical world were half as creative as I seem to recall you used to be, but they can't seem to get past the notion that everything has to be done with spells, and if they can't do it with spells it can't be done. There was a recent attempted bank robbery which looked interesting, but the head of Magical Law Enforcement says it's low priority and wouldn't let me anywhere near the case." She scowled. "I've been on security duty the past month. The Minister's apparently terrified of the diplomatic repercussions if one of these important foreigners or their children has anything happen to them whilst they're in the country but not right under the Supreme Mugwump's nose. Hence the parade this morning." She waved her hand which _wasn't_ holding the wand in the general direction of several of her fellow aurors. Then she switched her gaze to Sophie, and studied her speculatively for a moment. Sophie had a sudden sense that this woman could be a _very_ good friend or a _very_ bad enemy. "Sophie?..."

The auror left the name hanging in a manner which made it clear she was fishing for further name information.

"Theresa." said Sophie.

"Ahh." said the auror making it sound significant. "Well, Sophie Theresa, you may refer to me as Trixiebelle Fairy." Her gaze drifted to Sophie's belt, and she elevated an eyebrow for a moment at the sight of the sheath, but she forbore from comment and after a moment returned her attention to Sophie's grandfather.

"And I expect _you_ to write, Simeon, now you know approximately where I am. My colleagues in the department will see to it that anything addressed to 'Trixiebelle' or 'Trixie' gets to me."

And then she turned and swept away, cloak billowing impressively.

"Hmm. Well, it was a surprise to see her again after so long and in this context." Sophie's grandfather said. "I must say a lot more about her makes sense to me now. If her family threw her out for associating with me, I'd guess they were traditionalist pure-bloods. It would be ungentlemanly of me to actually raise such a topic with her, but I must admit to some curiosity over her origins…"

"Or her family might have been…" Sophie was interrupted by a whistle from the other end of the platform, where the locomotive was now at the front of the train. "…policemen, informed of who you were." Sophie concluded.

"That wouldn't add up." Sophie's grandfather demurred. "Not given what I know of Trixie."

And Sophie was surprised to hear her grandfather actually _sigh_, and not just any old sigh, but _wistfully_.

* * *

><p>Other people had apparently known roughly what time the train was due to get here and little family groups started to arrive now, in combinations of one or more children plus luggage accompanied by varying numbers of adults of different generations.<p>

"Hey, I've seen her before, gran!"

Sophie and her grandfather were distracted from watching a discussion about engineering works in Scotland between a couple of aurors and a portly man in a BR guard's uniform. Turning around, they saw a blond slightly chubby boy in robes dragging a stern-faced elderly lady (also in robes but with the addition of a most remarkable hat which seemed to have a stuffed vulture perched on it) in their direction. "She's the girl who was in the bookshop, the day you took me shopping for my wand. The one with the weird taste in books."

The boy looked a mixture of nervous and relieved.

"Good morning, Ms. err?" Sophie's grandfather looked at the elderly lady.

"Longbottom." she sniffed. "Augusta Longbottom."

"An old and respected family, I am given to understand." Sophie's grandfather got up and formally bowed to her. "Tombs. Seamus Tombs. And this is my granddaughter."

"Mr. err, Tombs, I do not believe that I am acquainted with _your_ family," Augusta Longbottom said, thawing slightly, "but I wish you and your granddaughter a good morning. This is _my_ grandson, Neville."

'Longbottom'. Sophie didn't have anything like her grandfather's memory for names and faces, but the name was starting to ring bells in _her_ head for some reason. Uh-oh. Something horrible to do with werewolves, she thought. Aurors, who were considered amongst the last casualties of the Wizarding War, in mid-November 1981, on the first night of the full-moon since Hallowe'en – though there were arguments about exactly _which_ side they were casualties for. She looked at her grandfather for a clue as to how to deal with these people, but before he could assist Augusta Longbottom turned her attention on Sophie.

"I gather you were browsing the laws section… Most unusual choice of reading material for a girl your age."

"I've had an upbringing away from the magical world for most of my life, ma'am, but I want to be able, if I am going to come here, to keep up with this society's rules and etiquette." Sophie said.

"Hmm." Augusta Longbottom subjected her to a particularly penetrating stare. "You may associate with this girl, Neville. Obviously, you may associate with whomever you please, in the coming months, but I actually approve of this one."

"Thanks, gran." Neville said, though sounding as if slightly embarrassed by some undercurrent he understood from the phrasing she had used.

"Mr. Tombs, if I may have a few private words with you?" Augusta Longbottom invited.

She and Sophie's grandfather drew off a little way and engaged in some sort of discussion, leaving Neville with Sophie.

"I think she expects us to talk with one another about our families and financial prospects." Neville said. "She apparently thinks of you as a prospective future wife for me or something. She means well. Since you didn't cringe at the mention of my name, I take it you don't know what happened to my parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom?"

"Not the details, no." Sophie said. "I'm aware it was something unpleasant."

"Nobody seems to know the details." Neville said. "Well not unless you count them turning into ravening werewolves in the middle of a raid in November 1981 and turning on their fellow aurors. They were aurors. Good ones. Gran thinks they must have been infected by someone the previous month and then had their memories wiped of the fact. The whispers that they were traitors and spies working for Voldemort who were furious about the defeat of their cause have mostly died away now."

"Don't most witches and wizards say 'You-Know-Who'?" Sophie asked, fascinated by this boy who deviated from the norm.

"_I_ say Voldemort." Neville's lip stiffened. "And _he_ may be gone, but Fenrir Greyback, whom everyone says led his werewolf allies, escaped with his life and freedom, and some day I'm going to hunt him down and find out what he knows about the truth of what happened to my parents. And if he was in any way responsible, I'm going to kill him or deliver him to the Ministry for justice." He deflated slightly. "When I'm older and know proper magic, obviously." He paused, and looked at Sophie. "What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't. But Sophie. Sophie Theresa."

"Sophie like 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'?" Neville asked, an odd look in his eyes.

"Sophie, but I've seen some of the books and most distinctly _not_ at all like 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'."

Neville looked strangely relieved at this.

They chatted for a bit about werewolves, and muggle stories about them as composed to the actualities (real werewolves weren't any more hurt by silver knives than by regular knives, Sophie was interested to hear) and compared wands (Neville had a cherry wood and dragon heartstring wand about half an inch longer than Sophie's, and although he didn't have a sheath, said he did have a special pocket for it sewn into the robes he used most often) and then Sophie's grandfather and Neville's gran came back.

Neville's gran pulled a miniature trunk out of her pocket, tapped it with her wand, and it turned into a full-sized one, albeit one hovering in midair.

"Come along, Neville, we'll go and see your trunk loaded into one of the baggage vans, and then we'll see if the Ropers are here yet. They're bringing that owl I promised you…"

* * *

><p>"Excuse me. I'm Hermione Granger. Would you know if The-Girl-Who-Lived has arrived yet?"<p>

Sophie and her grandfather looked up to see a nervous looking girl with bushy brown hair, brown eyes and slightly protruding teeth who looked like another prospective first year, accompanied by a smartly groomed man in a suit pushing a luggage trolley with a trunk on it. Sophie surveyed the girl critically. The girl was in a jumper and skirt with a coat over the top, dressed as if she'd grown up in the normal world, but _she_ was obsessing about 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'?

Evidently she didn't consider Sophie a possibility for the role, if she was asking her if she'd seen her.

"Sophie Theresa." Sophie introduced herself. "'The-Girl-Who-What'?"

Hermione seemed to deflate.

"Oh, I saw your wand-sheath and thought you must be a member of a wizarding family, but I suppose you must be a muggle-born like me…" Hermione trailed off, and just stared.

The man Hermione was with gave the girl's hand a reassuring squeeze and took up the narrative.

"Hi. I'm John Granger, Hermione's father. Hermione's been reading about some really big heroine in the magical world who defeated a dark wizard when she was little more than a baby, and we did some figuring and reckoned she might be starting at Hogwarts this year, and Hermione wanted to meet her."

"Does she have a real name?" Sophie's grandfather asked, taking his cue from Sophie. "If she's in books, do you have a description?"

"Her name seems to be Zoffy Potter. Or maybe Sophia Potter." Mr. Granger said. He smiled. "And she seems to be really good at magical disguises, but to go most places with a unicorn companion – or occasionally an eagle. It may sound a bit odd, I know, but we've seen some pretty strange things in Diagon Alley."

Sophie couldn't help but notice that Hermione flinched at the mention of Diagon Alley.

"Some of them unpleasant?" Sophie guessed.

"Oh, we had a run-in with magical law-enforcement." John Granger said, his smile turning into a frown. "Hermione had just been wand-shopping, and was just giving her new wand a quick wave, when she was noticed by a woman who turned out to be the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, who practically jumped down our throats." Hermione visibly cringed at the memory. "She accused Hermione of breaking the restrictions on underage magic which we'd never even heard of until then, issued an 'official warning' and said she'd have suspected her of being a dark witch and of trying to assassinate her if she weren't so young. A lot of fuss over nothing. All 'Mione did was say 'abracadabra'."

Sophie _tried_, but couldn't entirely suppress an instinctive wince. The Ministry of Magic had classified three spells above all others as unacceptably criminal magic, the so called 'Unforgiveable Curses'. She'd checked with the Gringotts curse-breakers she'd practised under the eyes of during August, and it turned out the Killing Curse which Voldemort was supposed to have used on her on Hallowe'en was one of these Unforgiveables – the incantation _avada kedavra_.

"I think she mistook it for something _bad_. _Very_ bad." Sophie's grandfather said dryly. He'd heard about the Unforgiveables too. He considered it essential to know about what the Ministry considered was the worst magic around, mainly so he could take appropriate evasive or defensive action if he saw anyone doing it.

"We haven't seen anyone with a unicorn or eagle, anyway." Sophie added, feeling pity for the poor girl who was looking absolutely wretched now. "I think I _might_ have read some of the books you have, but they looked more like fairy-stories to me, which someone had made up, than anything about a real person."

"Oh, Professor McGonagall, the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, who showed us to Diagon Alley had told us all about the 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' and that she was the only survivor of an attack that finished a war the witches and wizards were having. I don't believe she'd have told us that if she hadn't thought she was real." Mr. Granger said. "And she was most annoyed when word got back to her about what the Head of Magical Law Enforcement had said, and wrote to us, apologising for not staying with us for the whole of our shopping trip, as she'd have soon put matters straight."

"Have you heard about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?" Sophie thought it best to check. Both Hermione and her father looked blank. "The staff member who showed my grandfather and I around Diagon Alley was very careful to mention it and emphasise its importance. And so was Mr. Ollivander when he sold me my wand."

"The deputy headmistress said she had urgent business which required her attention back at school and didn't really stop to explain anything after showing us to Gringotts and pointing out a couple of school supplies shops." Mr. Granger said. "And Mr. Ollivander was in the middle of a rush when we called there, and we didn't want to stay to chit-chat further or take up any more of his time once 'Mione had her wand. There was an Indian family with twin daughters and an Irish lad with his mother all waiting to be served."

The Grangers had probably deprived themselves of at least one chance to be forewarned of the mess they could get themselves into then, and Sophie's pity for the Granger father and daughter was speedily evaporating. The pair were absolutely hopeless, and so was the deputy headmistress too, if she'd rushed off without explaining to them the ways they could have gotten into very serious trouble – although she'd apparently had enough time to go blathering to them about 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'…

"My granddaughter and I were sufficiently impressed by the seriousness of our guide to Diagon Alley and by Mr. Ollivander that we carried out some research into the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy." Sophie's grandfather said. "I'll just highlight a few of the main points for you…"

He extracted a notebook in which he kept details of important points of magical law, and began to explain to Mr. Granger and his daughter exactly what they'd been missing out on. And as he did so, the blood gradually drained from their faces…

Sophie's grandfather was going easy on them, too, glossing over the details of what a sentence to the wizarding prison of Azkaban, out in the North Sea, _actually_ could involve.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger, Sophie speedily got the impression, was a girl with a <em>good<em> memory for almost anything she'd read, but rather gullible and with practically no social skills at all. Sophie doubted that Hermione had had many friends at primary school, but wrapped up in a bubble of a reputation of being a 'know-it-all' had managed to blithely ignore her isolated social situation until her recent, crushing, encounter with Magical Law Enforcement had demonstrated to her that actually she _didn't_ know-it-all. Apparently she'd been in a state of mild panic ever since. The girl had arrived at St. Pancras seeming to imagine that if she could only find this mythical heroine she'd read so much about that she could befriend her and she'd be safe again and everything would be wonderful.

Without even knowing that Sophie was the girl the myth she was looking for was vaguely based on, Hermione had apparently fixated on Sophie for now, simply because Sophie was what Hermione took to be a 'fellow muggle-born' but one who somehow knew, miraculously, what she was doing. Honestly, if Hermione and her idiot father – apparently he was a dentist or something – had even paid the slightest bit of attention and caution to their approach to the magical world, they probably could have found out a _lot_ of what Sophie and her grandfather had unearthed, even without the benefit of useful goblin contacts. If only they'd just _stopped_ to listen to Mr. Ollivander for instance, instead of rushing out onto the street with Hermione waving her wand around shouting 'abracadabra'…

Sophie didn't have a lot of patience for annoying idiots, and right now Hermione was definitely looking an annoying idiot.

She conceded that Hermione could stick around her until they got to Hogwarts and were sorted, and at that point Hermione would have to look amongst whomever was in her new house for someone to hang around with.

Hermione looked pathetically grateful, her father patted his little princess on the head, kissed her goodbye, offloaded her trunk from the trolley, and disappeared. Apparently he considered his parental duty for this morning now done.

"So what now?" Hermione asked Sophie.

"Have you read _anything_ apart from books about 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'?" Sophie asked.

"I read all the books the school said we had to buy, including '_Hogwarts, a History_', twice." Hermione said.

Sophie had skimmed all the textbooks set by the school at least once, and had taken notes from _Hogwarts, a History_, but that had nowhere near been the extent of _her_ reading. Plus she had also been meeting people (admittedly mostly goblins or their occasional human employees) and tried two broomsticks out in a manner unlikely to violate the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.

"And you only made the one trip to Diagon Alley, and haven't seen any more witches or wizards after that until now?" Sophie asked.

"We got everything on the first visit, and didn't want to go back there after what happened with Madam Bones." Hermione bit her lip.

"Then you will sit here, with my grandfather and I, and _watch_ what is happening, and you will be polite to anyone who speaks to us, and you will _not_ go babbling anything about how it says something in some book you've read unless you're absolutely _sure_ that it's true and that saying it probably won't upset the person you're talking to."

"But what if I don't _know_ if saying it will upset the person I'm talking to?" Hermione stared.

"Then don't say it." Sophie said.

"Miss Granger." Sophie's grandfather had a go at explaining, seeing the puzzled expression on Hermione's face. "If you _had_ to visit a foreign country – Indonesia to pick one at random – and you didn't know anything about their country except what you'd picked up in some guide-books which were fifty years old and you didn't speak their language very well, would you think you could buy a tin of tomatoes the same way you could in Britain?"

"No." said Hermione. "I mean their language is different and their customs would be different – they might not even have supermarkets – and my information would be unreliable and probably wouldn't cover buying tins of tomatoes, and I'd have to find a bank to change money because I don't think they'd take pounds and…"

"Miss Granger." Sophie's grandfather said patiently. "Treat magical Britain as a foreign country. Many witches and wizards have lived apart from their fellow human beings who have no magical ability for generations. They have their own police force, their own officials, their own currency, their own language and customs… There's more to this society than that they can wave wands to get things done – and they may well view you as an annoying foreigner if you walk around talking to them loudly about what things in books say."

* * *

><p>Neville arrived back, in the company of his gran, minus the levitating trunk but <em>with<em> Neville carrying a birdcage complete with an owl occupant.

"Sophie, Mr. Tombs, this is Nimrod." Neville indicated the owl and beamed. "I named him that after the legendary mighty hunter." The owl was a sort of brown and speckled colour. "Uh, who's this?" he glanced at Hermione.

"This is Miss Hermione Granger." Sophie's grandfather said. "Her father had to go and left her here with us."

Neville looked Hermione over.

"Are you a muggle-born, or do you just like muggle fashions?" Neville asked her.

"Muggle-born." Hermione said.

"Well I'm Neville Longbottom, anyway." Neville introduced himself. He seemed to have grown in confidence with the acquisition of an owl, Sophie thought. "And this is my esteemed grandmother, the Dowager Augusta Longbottom."

Hermione was staring in fascination at the vulture on Neville's grandmother's hat. She opened her mouth to say something, shut it again without speaking, and then tried again.

"Umm, charmed to meet you." Hermione said to Neville's grandmother managing, somehow, _not_ to make a comment about the hat, which Sophie was sure had been Hermione's initial intention.

Augusta Longbottom glanced over Hermione then narrowed her eyes.

"I heard a muggle-born girl named 'Granger' tried to assassinate the head of the DMLE with an Unforgiveable back at the start of the summer, but got off by claiming underage magic." Augusta Longbottom said. Hermione cringed and Augusta snorted. "Lot of fuss over nothing if you ask me. Still, gossip being what it is, it set back by a couple of years the cause of greater muggle-born integration. I know an old family or two who'll be privately hoping that _that_ Miss Granger manages to repeat the incident, and a few _odd_ families who if they believe there's any truth in the stories might well come looking to recruit…"

"You're joking, gran, aren't you?" Neville looked worried.

The old witch seemed to recollect herself.

"Why yes, Neville. _Mostly_ joking, anyhow. If you'll excuse me, but I believe I see the Greengrasses arriving, and need to go talk shop with them."

She headed off purposefully across the platform.

"You have to excuse her." Neville said apologetically. "She's spent a lifetime fighting one cause or another, and sometime forgets to stop, even with me. I have to remind her occasionally to be civilised. She almost reduced Stephen Cornfoot to tears at my birthday party at the end of July, and she _did_ make Hannah Abbott cry. Moody – that's Alastor Moody, the auror – and Amos Diggory used to be the only ones who could handle her when she got on her hippogriff about something, but she listens to me pretty often these days, too."

Sophie was actually starting to like the no-nonsense feisty old lady.

"It's okay, Neville. She was right. I probably deserve people being cross with me." Hermione said sounding miserable. "I should have known better."

"The important thing," Neville said hurriedly, apparently not wanting an outburst of tears, "is to _learn_ from mistakes and not repeat them." He produced a paper hanky from a pocket and passed it to Hermione. "Blow your nose, and keep that in case you need it. It's a muggle one, and I've got plenty more. Much more practical than monogrammed cotton or silk ones a lot of witches and wizards use."

* * *

><p>The platform continued to fill. Occasionally someone would stop and ask who they were, or rather who Sophie and Hermione were, but generally they lost interest upon failing to hear either admit to being 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'.<p>

Whilst it was clear that the older students recognised and knew each other – or at least others in their house or year – some of the other first-year children apparently already knew one another too, and indeed were already setting themselves up for Hogwarts life – a self-important girl who introduced herself as Tracey Davis, was flanked by a couple of thickset boys called 'Vincent' and 'Gregory', and seemed quite certain that she was going to wind up in Slytherin house and become 'one of the most important people in the school'. Tracey was wearing black robes with green-and-silver piping which affected to be pretentious, whilst Vincent and Gregory were wearing less smart black robes crudely modified to allow for ease of arm movement.

Neville shook his head sadly seeing that particular trio depart.

"Idiots. If _they_ end up in Slytherin, it says what passes for wizarding cunning these days is pathetic. _I'd_ make a better Slytherin on the grounds of cunning than those three."

Between various books she'd read and other sources, Sophie was fairly sure that _in __theory_ the house a pupil ended up in was supposed to indicate that he or she possessed particular traits or characteristics.

"Doesn't Slytherin include the ambitious, too?" Sophie asked.

"Again, I'd make a better Slytherin than them." Neville said. "Those three just have vague ideas of becoming some of the biggest bullies in school. _I_ want to hunt down and interrogate one of Voldemort's lieutenants and wring the truth from his sorry hide of what happened to my parents, then deal with whomever was responsible – pursuing them to the corners of the world if necessary. That's _ambition_. Mind you, it's probably pretty reckless folly too, and I wouldn't be surprised if I end up in Gryffindor. I just hope," Neville added gloomily, "that if I do go there, that Lavender Brown breaks with Brown tradition and gets sorted somewhere else. The girl's a menace, and tried to _kiss_ me last Christmas at the Zabini party. I mean how _yuck_ is that?"

* * *

><p>There was a hubbub as a man, a woman, and a boy about Sophie's age, all in expensive looking robes, arrived on the platform, accompanied by an escort of four aurors. The man had a bushy beard, and he, the woman and the boy all had dark hair and superior expressions on their faces.<p>

"Oh Merlin, that's the Romanovs, I bet." Neville murmured. "It was all over _The Daily Prophet_ that one of their younger sons was going to be attending Hogwarts this year."

From somewhere, a blonde haired woman wearing outrageous green spectacles and with a quill and parchment ready had appeared, accompanied by a weedy looking young man with a rather old-fashioned looking camera. The likely Romanovs said something to the aurors accompanying them, and the aurors permitted the blonde and man with the camera access to their charges.

"'Romanovs'?" Sophie's grandfather had an interested expression on his face. "Are they an old family in magical terms?"

"Their great-grandmother was a Russian muggle-born of important birth." Neville said. "She escaped a nasty civil war the muggles were having at the time that way. Or at least that's what the Romanovs claim – there are rumours to the contrary that claim she was simply a good liar and a particularly talented metamorphmagus – which is to say a person with the ability to change what their personal appearance without using a wand." Neville added the last by way of explanation in response to a puzzled look from Hermione. "At any rate, they're well established in European wizarding circles these days, and quite well off."

There came a silver-white flash from the direction of the group. Apparently the photographer was taking pictures now. Another flash followed.

"Wouldn't one of the continental schools be a closer and easier option for them?" Sophie asked Neville.

"Between floo, apparition, and portkeys, travel over distances to a known destination isn't a problem for most adult witches and wizards." Neville said. "Languages are more of a barrier, as they still need to be learned unless you're good at some forms of divination magic. But, yes, the Romanovs have all traditionally attended one of the continental schools, Beauxbatons, in recent generations, but apparently Hogwarts' reputation as one of the best schools in Europe has finally caught their attention. Though gran says, since this is the third son of the younger brother of the current heir, they're probably willing to take a bit of a gamble on sending him to an unfamiliar school on the off-chance he can acquire The-Girl-Who-Lived as a wife. Well, gran was a _bit_ less polite about it than that in how she said it," Neville flushed at the precise memory of whatever it was that his gran _had_ said, "but it amounted to that."

The thought that she might be considered a marriage target for the sons of some families hadn't even occurred to Sophie before now, and she felt quite queasy for a moment.

"I expect if The-Girl-Who-Lived went to Hogwarts then her current guardians would have something to say about unwanted attentions from unwelcome suitors." Sophie's grandfather said. "Given the mentions of dragon-handlers, djinn, giants, and goblins as possible guardians in various books, I think anyone trying to _force_ their suit might be rather foolish in the amount of trouble they could get themselves in."

It was a nonsense reference of course, but Sophie understood her grandfather was saying he would do his best to protect her, and if she was the target of unwanted attention, whomever was responsible had best watch out.

She felt relieved.

Her grandfather's remark had the unfortunate effect of setting Hermione off though, babbling on excitedly for five minutes with various lightning-hurling, snake-crushing, unicorn-riding theories about 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. It was rather worrying for Sophie to see that Neville, a boy born and raised in the magical world, was apparently prepared to consider most of them if not exactly _credible_, then certainly _possible_.

* * *

><p>A blond boy in robes who looked to be a fellow first year stopped by, who Neville appeared to be acquainted with.<p>

"Hi, Nev." he said. "I thought you didn't hang out with girls."

"Sophie's as good as any boy." Neville said. "She has an Ollivander special, and she's got a wand-sheath for it." Ernie gave a whistle at this. "Sophie, this is Ernie Macmillan. Ernie, this is Sophie Theresa and her grandfather, Mr. Tombs, and Hermione Granger whom they're keeping an eye on."

"Granger? Wasn't that the name of the muggle-born who…" Ernie began.

"The _Prophet_ exaggerated it, Ernie." Neville said.

"Oh, right." Ernie said, eyeing Hermione warily. "Well, umm, I'm sorry about the trouble you got into. It was in all the magical papers, and…"

"Ernie. Shut-up." Neville said.

"Right. Making an idiot of myself." Ernie said. He turned his attention to Neville's birdcage. "Hey! Your gran got you that owl she promised, fabulous! Do you have a name for it?"

The conversation turned to Neville's owl for a bit, then moved on to wands and Ernie produce his which he flourished. It was an eleven inch long shaft of oak – with a phoenix-feather core Ernie claimed. Sophie and Neville produced theirs and mutually admired each other's wands, and then they turned to Hermione.

"Where's your wand, Hermione?" Ernie asked.

Hermione whispered something, ashamed.

"What's that?" Ernie asked.

"I said I packed it in my trunk." Hermione said, sounding miserable. "After Diagon Alley which you all seem to have been laughing about in your world, it seemed a good idea to lock it away somewhere until… until… until I got to Hogwarts."

She broke down in tears, resulting in a red-faced Ernie, who mumbled an apology, and then hurriedly departed, leaving Neville and Sophie and Sophie's grandfather to mop up as best they could.

* * *

><p>In an act of charity, it was decided to retrieve Hermione's wand from her trunk, which proved only marginally more complicated an operation than it should have been when it emerged that Hermione's father had in fact forgotten to give his daughter the key when he took his leave of her.<p>

"I'll have this open in a jiffy." Sophie's grandfather said.

"The man in the shop who sold it to us assured us it was protected against most known charms a pupil below fifth year could manage, Mr. Tombs." Hermione said, looking doubtful. "I really don't see how someone who isn't a wizard could… Oh."

Sophie's grandfather had produced a couple of small hooked metal rods from a pocket, inserted them into the lock of Hermione's trunk, jiggled them around, and the lock had duly clicked, permitting him to lift the lid.

"No need for magic. It's not a goblin lock, so Sophie could probably have opened this one for you." Sophie's grandfather said.

Sophie's grandfather had had at least one fascinating discussion, of which Sophie was aware, with goblins on the subject of locks in the magical world, and the over-reliance of most witches and wizards on making their locks spell-proof but not resistant to more mundane means of entry. Amongst the modifications on Sophie's _own_ trunk was the installation of triple goblin-locks. Sophie had made attempts at opening her trunk without use of the keys, but had failed thus far. Her grandfather could do it, but so far his best time was twenty minutes. He'd been improving with practice though.

"Umm…" Hermione had a _look_ on her face that said she had half a dozen questions and couldn't make up her mind which to ask or indeed if she _ought_ to ask at all?

"I occasionally function as a security consultant." Sophie's grandfather saved Hermione from having some sort of mental seizure. "I'll lock it up again for you after you're done."

Hermione started to burrow through the contents of her trunk, finally reaching her wand which had apparently been at the very bottom. Then she rearranged the contents slightly, and put the lid down, and Sophie's grandfather twiddled with the lock again, resecuring it.

"Once you get to Hogwarts, I expect one of the school-teachers will be able to open it with magic, or get the key from your father." Sophie's grandfather said to Hermione.

"Thank-you, Mr. Tombs." Hermione said. She drew a deep breath and although her hand was shaking, managed to flourish her wand. "Hermione Granger, wand: ten and three quarter inches, eucalyptus with a phoenix feather core." She frowned. "Mr. Ollivander said it was 'temperamental but good for formal magic', whatever that's supposed to mean."

"I think he likes being cryptic." Neville said. "Gran and I looked around several wandmakers before settling on Ollivanders for my wand, and they all seem to enjoy being mysterious."

* * *

><p>"Time to get the trunks up front, girls." Sophie's grandfather said, inspecting his watch.<p>

Activity on the platform certainly seemed to have reached a frenetic pace right now.

"Umm, I'll be getting aboard. I'll go say goodbye to my gran, then try and find a compartment with empty seats, and save some for you." Neville said, making to take his owl and go.

"Do you have a label for that, Neville?" Sophie's grandfather peered at the birdcage.

"Err, no, good point, Mr. Tombs." Neville flushed. "I'll get my gran to make sure my name and address are on it."

He hurried off.

Something which the Granger family _had_ managed to get right was ensuring that Hermione's trunk had prominent, easily legible, labels on it.

However, when Mr. Granger had departed, he had taken the luggage trolley with him. Very tidy, no doubt, but irresponsible from the point of view of that his daughter now had to get her trunk up the platform to the baggage vans at the very front of the train.

Sophie's grandfather went and fetched a trolley. Sophie's trunk was arranged to be pulled along on one of the pairs of its own wheels at an angle, and stacking Hermione's on top of it just wasn't going to work.

* * *

><p>The baggage van carriages of the Hogwarts Express had pairs of broad double-doors, currently all flung open on the platform side to receive trunks and other luggage, and were manned by a dozen or so small spindly creatures with spindly arms and legs, large ears like bat-wings, and protruding slightly crazy looking eyes. They were dressed in 'uniforms' which resembled pillow-cases with slits for arms and legs that bore the Hogwarts crest of a quartered shield with a lion, serpent, badger, and eagle all surrounding a capital 'H'.<p>

"What on earth are those?" Hermione stared, as they waited behind several other groups to put their luggage aboard.

"I imagine that they're some of the house-elves which work for Hogwarts." Sophie's grandfather said.

"Oh, I saw them mentioned in _Hogwarts, a History_, but it didn't really explain what they are, or what they looked like." Hermione said. She looked worried. "They're not in any of our other first year books."

They were mentioned in some of the 'basic' books written to introduce children who grew up outside of magical society to the magical world, Sophie diplomatically refrained from mentioning. If Hermione had actually _looked_ outside of the official texts and books of made-up stories about The-Girl-Who-Lived…

"I think the professor who took you to Diagon Alley may have _intended_ to recommend some other reading material you might have found helpful if she hadn't had to rush away." Sophie's grandfather said tactfully.

Sophie gritted her teeth and tried to work out the odds of herself and Hermione ending up in the same house. If the allocation was made on a purely random basis, the odds were probably about one in four, she reckoned, but if, for example, all girls tended to end up in particular houses, the odds might unfortunately be lower than that.

Then they were at the front of the queue, and handing their luggage up.

Hermione's trunk disappeared into the depths of the van – Sophie saw a flash of magic, and it looked like the house-elves were partially shrinking trunks and stacking them in racks – and then Sophie's own followed suit.

They seemed to have a stand for more unusual items of luggage too. Sophie bit her lip and passed her precious spider plant in too, to the bemused look of the elves. She hung onto her canvas bag. It had a number of things in which she might want, and 'hand luggage' (and pets) were to an extent permitted to accompany pupils on the train.

Then they were moving clear, so other people could get their luggage in.

* * *

><p>It was twenty minutes to eleven. Hermione had got on board the train and gone off to try and find Neville. Sophie felt slightly guilty about letting Neville be subjected to the girl's presence without Sophie around. He was quite a nice boy.<p>

"Don't forget to write, if you can." Sophie's grandfather said after getting a couple of final pictures of Sophie with his camera.

"I will." Sophie promised. "And in a real emergency, I might even risk the Statute and try to borrow someone's owl. If nothing else, I think Neville might let me use his."

They hugged one another, and Sophie tried not to cry _too_ much because she was a big girl now, who was about to go away to a boarding school for several months, and then they parted and Sophie got on board the train. There were more and more pupils getting on board, and Sophie stood politely aside, then pulled the door shut after the last mad rush for this way particular entrance onto the train had finished.

A man or woman blew a whistle somewhere and Sophie looked at her watch. It was quarter to eleven.

A last couple of slams of doors, another blast of that whistle, and Sophie was at the window, waving, as the great black beast of a locomotive at the front of the train stirred, tore the air asunder with a blast on its own whistle, and then began to pull the train out of the station.

Sophie saw her grandfather amongst the other parents or relatives waving to other pupils leaning out of other windows, as the train cleared the station, and she caught sight of some desperate pale-haired woman and boy racing onto the platform as the Express departed, bound for Scotland, leaving London and those on platform three at St. Pancras behind…

* * *

><p>Author Notes: (divergences notes, slightly revised, 18th May, 2014)<p>

Well, I have indicated that characters with canon counterparts might be somewhat different from their canon counterparts… For those with an interest in such things, I'll include some general notes on divergences from Harry Potter canon (prior to the marriage of James Potter to Selene Tilde Tombs) at the bottom of this section.

King's Cross, of course, is _not_ the London station for Crewe. Whilst writing the previous chapter, I just assumed that the train lines were there. Then I double-checked, whilst writing this chapter. And thus did a sub-plot arise.

Geographically, St. Pancras _is_ only a few hundred yards from King's Cross, even if it lacks a purpose-built magical platform…

The scene at the ticket barrier underwent several iterations. It seemed reasonable to me that the authorities, whether school or ministry, would have good reasons to check the names of pupils arriving for the train, and given Sophie's strong desire _not_ to be identified as 'The-Girl-With-The-Silly-Soubriquet' her openly saying she was 'Sophie Potter' (especially to a woman she's never met before and has no reason to trust) was never going to happen. This caused problems. Lots of them.

In the end it seemed reasonable to me that a combination of Rufus Scrimegour and Gringotts might have conspired to have had the name 'Sally Templar' added to the list, in anticipation that Sophie might in an attempt for a quiet life employ it again. She's been known to have done that several times already on trips to Diagon Alley, and it would be reasonable to assume she might do it again.

I hesitated over whether to put Molly Weasley in, but, as established in an earlier chapter, she _is_ the Ministry of Magic's leading expert in muggle matters, and is the obvious choice (or at least the obvious choice from an 'old' family) to have out 'front of house' on Hogwarts Express day in case something goes wrong. So yes, that was this universe's Molly Weasley on the ticket barrier at St. Pancras, reading a Lockhart book.

As an aside for now, Gilderoy Lockhart in this universe is Gilderoy _Reyt_ Lockhart, which makes for a great pun for his publicists…

Sophie's grandfather had been a widower for a number of years by the time he met 'Trixiebelle' at the end of the nineteen-sixties. Yes, there was a generational gap between them, which partially contributed to their drifting apart (along with the fact that 'Trixie' was keeping secrets from him such as that she was a witch, and he was attempting to be a relatively responsible single parent at a time in Trixie's life when becoming a stepmother was not on her list of priorities) but they parted on relatively good terms.

The Neville Longbottom of this universe has _not_ grown up with horrible visits to see parents lying crippled and incapable in hospital beds. Instead he's had to put up with whispered suggestions (especially in the early years) that they may have been traitors, with a burning desire gradually developing to conclusively clear his parents' names and bring to book those actually responsible for what happened in the middle of November, 1981. Some of this has been hinted at in a supporting piece I have written, titled: 'Coming, Ready or Not'.

Canon Hermione Granger admits in the first book to practising magic at home before she even goes anywhere near Hogwarts. Whilst this might ordinarily violate the restrictions on underage magic and be potentially in breech of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, she apparently does this without being picked up on it by the Ministry.

The Hermione in this universe isn't so fortunate – and it's just her bad luck that it happened to be the head of the DMLE herself who caught her practising underage magic (albeit at least in a magical area), and who thought for one nasty moment that this was an assassination attempt by Unforgiveable curse. (In a bustling street it's very easy to hear the 'abracadabra' of an excited young witch messing around/experimenting as 'avada kedavra'.)

The blistering reprimand (including official 'caution') the head of the DMLE delivers to Hermione Granger has deeply impacted Hermione.

I was unable to discover a canon first name for Hermione's father, as of the time of writing (June, 2012), so have used 'John' for the purposes of this story.

Baggage vans staffed by Hogwarts house-elves seemed to me to make at least as much sense as the canon arrangements for luggage. If nothing else, from a logistical point of view it should make for a more efficient operation to transfer trunks to the school at the Hogsmeade end.

Divergences from canon:

Prior to the marriage of James Potter to Selene Tilde Tombs, there are three main phases of divergence of magical Britain from Harry Potter canon:

(i) 1930's-40's: Most significantly Tom Marvolo Riddle is growing up with stories of The Saint (pretty much at the height of his notoriety) in the background. To some extent this impacts Tom's character and actions (both in this decade and later); most immediately, whilst Tom engineers a sort of 'Chamber of Secrets' style incident during his Hogwarts days (there are a series of petrifications, though without mention of either the Chamber or any 'Heir of Slytherin'), with the same person blamed in the end for them as in canon, Tom's targets are different and it ends earlier than canon, without the death of Myrtle (or any other).

(ii) Late '60's: Muggle-studies is taught by a professor with something of a crush on Simon Templar, and there is much citing of him and his early activities to classes. Some pupils with anarchic streaks are fascinated by the stories of this larger-than-life muggle. Others are horrified by them, convinced that this disruptive barbaric figure with little regard for traditions or those in authority _proves_ just how bad muggles actually are. The positions of some characters who are pupils at Hogwarts during this time diverge from canon.

(iii) '70's: The Severus Snape who arrives at Hogwarts is one who has studied what is publicly known in the non-magical world of Simon Templar and his ideals and modes of operation. Severus Snape fights a considerably different campaign against the Marauders and is less active in use of Dark Arts or sympathetic to those who delight in using them/are noticeably anti-muggle. He is neither pro-Voldemort, nor pro-Dumbledore, and a nucleus of Slytherin 'neutrals' (including a student a year or two younger by the name of Regulus Black) develops around him. Unlike his canon counterpart Severus Snape gets the girl (Lily Evans). Meanwhile Voldemort is fighting a somewhat different war to canon, recruiting not just 'Slytherin pure-bloods', but members of other houses and heritages too, using all his charm and resourcefulness to get witches and wizards of quite disparate views to fill out his ranks.

Thanks to those who review!


	7. Hogwarts Express

(Revised, 22nd May, 2014)

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had a couple of sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans).

Further Note: This is an alternate universe which started to diverge from Harry Potter canon in the first half of the twentieth century, when Simon Templar was prominently at large in the wider world, and any characters with Harry Potter canon counterparts may have personalities and take actions at variance with what they would be and do in canon.

Further Further Note: 'Weasley, not Black' contains material which supports this chapter to some extent, as does the continuing 'Gearing Up'.

Further Further Note: (27th August, 2012) Minor spelling, grammar, and turn of phrase amendments made to this chapter. Author Notes of this chapter slightly expanded. A couple of minor tweaks made to turns of phrase and capitalisation/punctuation in earlier chapters.

* * *

><p><em>In which, amongst other occurrences and meetings, there are ongoing searches for 'The-Girl-Who-Lived', the head-girl is displeased, the defence against the dark arts teacher sees action, and the Express arrives at Hogsmeade<em>

Sophie turned away from the window to find a girl of about her own age in robes with messy dark hair and with emerald green eyes looking at her, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Good morning." she said. "I'm sorry about this but I'm Erica Snape, and for some reason mother wants me to keep an eye on you. Or at least anyone I see who looks like you. She whipped up and showed me a picture before she sent me forth. I've been lurking with the castle house-elves in the baggage vans and spotted you putting your trunk aboard just now…"

"And your mother would be?" Sophie asked. She had her suspicions, given the particular colour of Erica's eyes, but still, best not to make assumptions.

"Professor Lily Snape, history of magic teacher at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. She said you might be using one of several names, and I ought to be polite and introduce myself and discover which name you were using, rather than make assumptions."

"Well I'm Sophie Theresa." Sophie said. She was fairly sure she hadn't seen _this_ member of the Snape family before. "Umm, how many of you are there? I saw three of you in the Leaky Cauldron with your mother, a baby with her this morning, plus now there's you…"

"There are lots of us." Erica said. "Apparently it's all a secret plan to take over the wizarding world. I tell people, but they don't believe it. If you want an _exact_ number, I currently have seven siblings, and I happen to be the oldest girl, which means I get stuck with jobs like Go-And-Join-The-Hogwarts-Express-And-Check-Sophie-Theresa-Got-On-It-And-Make-Sure-She-Gets-To-Hogsmeade-In-One-Piece." She peered at Sophie, curiosity in her eyes. "Are you _really_ a great-granddaughter of the muggle hero, Simon Templar, like dad says you are?"

"I think," Sophie said carefully, "it depends who you talk to whether he was a hero. He _was_ my great-grandfather though, yes."

"Excuse us. We're looking for The-Girl-Who-Lived, Sophie Potter. Are either of you two her?"

Sophie and Erica were interrupted by a pair of girls in robes, who had come up behind Erica and looked to be other first years. One was a blonde, with her hair in a pony-tail, and the other was a redhead with her hair in a plait. It was the redhead who'd spoken.

Erica turned around and scowled at them.

"Do I _look_ like The-Girl-Who-Lived, Susan?"

"Ooops. Sorry. Didn't realise it was you, Erica." the redhead promptly apologised. "What about _her_?" She indicated Sophie.

"Are _you_ The-Girl-Who-Lived?" Erica turned to Sophie.

"I'm Sophie Theresa." Sophie said. She put a hand to her face 'shading' her eyes and pantomimed looking all around. "Have you seen my unicorn anywhere?"

"Come on, Susan, it can't be _her_." the blonde girl said, tugging at the other's hand. "She hasn't got glowing eyes, for a start."

The redhead looked reluctant, but allowed herself to be dragged away.

"Susan Bones and her friend Hannah Abbott." Erica said. "Susan's the niece of the head of the DMLE. That's…"

"The department of magical law enforcement, I know, thanks." Sophie said. "And Amelia Bones, the head of the DMLE, is one of the most politically powerful witches in magical Britain."

"Wow. I'm surprised, given you were mostly brought up outside magical society, you've heard about Madam Bones." Erica said.

"I _am_ a great-granddaughter of Simon Templar. It's in my interest to know about magical policemen and who's in charge of them." Sophie shrugged.

There was a moment of silence

"Look, _do_ you want me around?" Erica asked. "If not, I can head off back to the baggage vans and make myself useful there. I can't promise, however, that mum hasn't given me instructions to detail one of the house-elves to invisibly keep an eye on you if _I_ can't stick around you."

"What's your plan if an adult witch or wizard does show up and try to make trouble?" Sophie asked.

"Scream very loudly to distract her or him, and throw the nearest nastiest thing to hand at them." Erica said. "You can run for help if you like."

"Help from _who_?" Sophie pulled a face. "You're the young witch who knows people and who's apparently in league with the house-elves on this train. It would make more sense if I did the throwing and kicking, and you went for help. You could still scream though."

"It's not my fault I know the house-elves. I grew up at Hogwarts and we're virtually family. My dad's the school caretaker, and they practically _worship_ him. You're right, it would make more sense for me to go for help. I'm supposed to get you out of the way of any trouble though…"

"And I'm supposed to not get anyone trying to help me killed." Sophie said. "My grandfather's orders."

"Excuse me. Are either of you…"

A darker haired older boy, who looked to be maybe a third or fourth year interrupted them.

"NO!" Erica and Sophie turned on him, simultaneously.

"She is not The-Girl-Who-Lived." Sophie said.

"And she doesn't have a unicorn or glowing eyes, either." Erica added.

"Well actually I was just going to ask if you were aware if she was on the train yet, or if you'd seen her?" the older boy huffed.

"Ask a prefect or auror or something." Sophie said. She was pretty certain from Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater's conversation back at the station that the prefects didn't have any idea who she was, and from Trixiebelle that the aurors were keeping quiet what they might know or suspect.

The older boy headed off muttering something about the rudeness of first years.

"That's funny, given he doesn't have any right to go around asking people flat out if they're 'The-Girl-Who-Lived', and that I'm not even technically a first year." Erica giggled.

"You're not?" Sophie asked.

"I home-school. It's just that Hogwarts just happens to be that home. I don't have any lesson timetable I have to follow, and I get to stay outside the whole being-sorted-into-a-house thing. My lessons _do_ involve a lot of cleaning and mending charms as well as brewing potions which might be useful for the infirmary, but at least it's indoors at the moment. My older brother, Sebastian, is currently spending a lot of time outside doing quidditch pitch maintenance with Hagrid, the groundskeeper."

A young woman who looked to be a sixth or seventh year pupil stopped by.

"Hello. Are either of you?… Oh, it's you Erica."

"Good morning, Eleanor." Erica responded.

"I wasn't expecting to see you on the Express this morning."

"Mother thought it would do me good to get some practice in minding someone raised in the muggle world, today." Erica rolled her eyes. "Sophie, this is Eleanor Rigsby, seventh year, Ravenclaw. She's currently dating seventh year Hufflepuff, Derek Knowlesworth, and rescued me five years ago when I was much younger and got stuck up a tree."

"Derek and I broke up over the summer. I'm dating his cousin, Frank, now." Eleanor said. "Erica. This wouldn't happen to be?..."

"The Girl-Who-Lived was brought up amongst djinn. Or goblins. Or giants. Or practically anywhere except with muggles, according to all the books." Erica said. "And wouldn't there be auror guards on her, not one eleven year old girl? That Romanov twit was sandwiched between a pair when I saw him earlier, and he's just an important foreigner."

"Ah, but I happen to have seen Suliman al Rashid and _he_ doesn't have any aurors."

"He probably has a magic ring or something. Rub it and *poof* a djinni appears." Erica glanced at Sophie. "Djinn are sort of like middle-eastern versions of house-elves, except bigger and brawnier, and they can fly, but don't do quite so much other magic except travelling around. Okay, well not at all really like house-elves, but they occupy the same sort of role for important magical families and institutions out that way." She looked back at Eleanor. "Anyway, you're not going to find The-Girl-Who-Lived here, Eleanor, and go away, please, before I have to give you the 'death glare'. I've been practising it all summer, honest…"

There was a pleading note in Erica's voice.

"Alright, I take the hint, and I'll stop bothering you. I'll even keep quiet about this, I promise."

Eleanor turned and headed off down the corridor.

"Sorry. Sort of friend." Erica said to Sophie. "She pulled me out of an ambush date palm one day when I was young and crazy enough to think it a good idea to try and climb this really rather harmless looking new tree which had arrived recently in the glasshouses. Only it gets the 'ambush' part of its name by looking pretty much innocuous, when it's actually far from…"

"Well if we're going to be bothered every five minutes by people looking for The-Girl-Who-Lived, we may as well be sitting down whilst we're at it." Sophie said, making her mind up. "Come on. There's someone I met at the station supposed to be saving some seats…"

* * *

><p>A couple of carriages down, they found a compartment with Neville, Hermione, and a dark-haired boy (in somewhat 'tired' greyish robes) who looked to be another first year in. Neville's birdcage (with occupant) hung swinging gently with the slight rocking motion of the train from one of the small overhead luggage racks. There were several seats spare.<p>

"Hi Sophie, this is Stephen Cornfoot." Neville greeted Sophie. "Stephen stopped by to…"

Stephen had caught sight of Erica and gone deathly pale.

"Oh crap, Nev. That's Erica Snape your friend's got with her."

"So?" Neville frowned.

"She's the eldest daughter of the Hogwarts caretaker! Her gaze can cause excruciating pain at five hundred paces, she can see invisible things, she can hear what's being discussed in Hogsmeade from the castle, and she can fly without a broomstick!" Stephen said wildly. He was almost hyperventilating in his state of panic.

Erica had been counting things on her fingers as Stephen went down the list.

"No. I'm afraid you must be confusing me with somebody else." Erica said. "You're only right about two out of five of those things about me – maybe three on a really good day."

"Hello Neville, Hermione… Stephen." Sophie said, bemused. "This is Erica Snape. Her mum put her on the Express, she says, to get some experience."

"See! I told you it's the Snape girl, Nev!" Stephen moaned.

"Is she a werewolf, Stephen?" Neville asked.

"Not that I've heard, Nev." Stephen replied.

"Then I really don't care who or what she is right now." Neville said. "And if she _is_ the daughter of the school caretaker, I'm sure that makes her a very useful person to know."

Stephen was clearly uncomfortable in Erica's presence though, and a couple of minutes after she and Sophie had come in and sat down, he excused himself and all but fled.

"Stephen's of a nervous disposition." Neville said. "Very brainy, but highly strung. I'd say he'd be a good Ravenclaw, from what I know about the houses."

"He didn't ask you if you were The-Girl-Who-Lived, Sophie." Hermione huffed. "He was all over me when he first stopped by."

"Hermione: I think he might have gathered, from our conversation before she arrived, that Sophie's not likely to be The-Girl-Who-Lived." Neville pointed out.

"Honestly, wherever she is, I'm starting to feel sorry for her, with people going crazy looking for her up and down the train." Hermione said. "If she has any sense she won't get on until Scotland, so she has to spend as little time on this train as possible." Hermione turned her gaze on Erica. "So: what house do you think you're going to be in?" Hermione asked her. "If you're the caretaker's daughter, you must know lots and lots about Hogwarts."

"I'm not going to be sorted." Erica said. "I home-school."

"Do you know _how_ the sorting works?" Neville asked, cutting across whatever response Hermione _had_ been going to make to that. "Hermione and I were discussing it with Stephen before you arrived."

"Of course I do." Erica smirked. "I'm not going to say how it's done though."

"If we make guesses, would you tell us if we're wrong?" Neville proposed.

"No." Erica said.

"Why not?" Neville asked.

"Because it's a tradition that first years are supposed to worry about how they're going to be sorted." Erica said. "It's something intended to bring them together, however briefly, in mutual concern on the train journey. They aren't supposed to know if they have to play chess against a giant or wrestle the giant squid, or swap riddles with a sphinx or steal gold from a dragon."

"Well, we know a nit-inspection is part of proceedings for first-years, because the letter accompanying my Hogwarts Express ticket said so, and that my parent or guardian was required to notify the school if this might prove a problem." Sophie said, feeling slightly guilty as she did so. She, herself, _knew_ how the sorting took place. Her grandfather had made absolutely certain that he found out how pupils were placed in houses during one of their trips to Diagon Alley (and Gringotts) over August. The sorting was done by some sort of very old mind-reading hat (reputed to date back to the foundation of Hogwarts), and in the context of multiple pupils trying on the same hat one after another, a nit-inspection made a good deal of sense. However, Sophie could see Erica's point in not wanting to spoil the surprise, and so she feigned ignorance of the procedures and looked askance at Neville and Hermione. "Unless that letter was sent to just me?"

"No. Mine mentioned it too." Neville said.

"And mine." Hermione said. "Not that that's not sensible. My primary school had a horrible nit problem." She shuddered. "I wonder why it's just first years who get inspected though?"

"We probably learn a charm to get rid of head-lice as part of our first year lessons." Neville said. "Maybe even as part of defence against the dark arts."

"Are you serious, Neville?" Hermione stared at him.

"There are some pretty nasty insects out there." Neville shrugged. "And it makes sense to start off learning magic which eliminates small, harmless, ones, before moving on to spells which cope with bigger, more dangerous, problems. There are such things as acromantula, you know."

"Acro-what?" Hermione asked.

"Big spiders. _Very_ big spiders." Sophie said. "There are some in the Forbidden Forest, apparently, close to Hogwarts."

"Oh, I remember reading about that in _Hogwarts, a History_, but it didn't explain what they were so I didn't think anything more of it." Hermione said.

Sophie and her grandfather had read that too, but given the forest's proximity to Hogwarts they had made sure to research acromantula, including Sophie getting a rather gory description from one of her Gringotts instructors what it was actually _like_ to face an acromantula. They had also researched centaurs, unicorns, merpeople, and a variety of other creatures and beings said to reside near the school.

Sophie had, however, temporarily exceeded the limit to her capacity to patiently point out to Hermione things for her own good (such as that actually it was a good idea to find out as much as possible about creatures and beings near where one was to go to school for seven years) and switched the topic back to the actual school.

"Anyway, getting back to the sorting, we _do_ know because it says it in print in multiple places that the pupils in each house are supposed to exemplify particular qualities favoured by the founder after which the house is named." Sophie said. "Slytherins are supposed to be cunning or ambitious, Gryffindors are supposed to be brave and dashing, Hufflepuffs are supposed to be hardworking or loyal, and Ravenclaws are supposed to be thirsty for knowledge." She furrowed her brow and looked at Erica – who at least had years of experience of _living_ at Hogwarts. "Aren't there some pupils whose qualities might make them a fit for more than one house?"

"Probably." Erica said. "To be honest, in recent years there's been a lot of sortings based on where someone's immediate family have been sorted, although there have been some vigorous discussions recently about if that's going to send the right message with the overseas scrutiny this year, and talk of a crackdown. But expecting eleven year olds to be 'ideal' fits for any one, and _just one_, of four houses is completely crazy. Some pupils could fit in…"

And there came a sharp rap at the door, then it slid open, and an older pupil (she looked to be sixth or seventh year) with silvery-grey hair, grey eyes, and a slightly haughty expression on her face was standing there. She was wearing school robes, with a badge of the Hogwarts crest pinned to them.

"Erica." the young woman said. "I heard you'd been added to the Express at the last minute."

"Instructions from dad. I helped the house-elves with the loading at St. Pancras, and I'm supposed to assist at the Hogsmeade end with the unloading. I've read the emergency evacuation procedures and all those things, and been added to the appropriate lists."

(Sophie mentally noted here that Erica had told Sophie that her mum had sent her, but she was giving this other girl a different version.)

"And I suppose now you're idling about?" the young woman continued.

"I'll head up front to assist at Crewe. And Carnforth, and Carlisle, and Carstairs." Erica said. "In the meantime, I'm teasing some of the first years over the sorting."

The other pursed her lips, and then nodded.

"Very good then." She glanced around the compartment and her gaze lighted on Neville. "Ah! Neville Longbottom?"

"And who are you?" Neville asked, eyeing the uniform and badge. "Apart from being this year's head-girl, I'd guess?"

"Perceptive of you. Nymphadora Black." she said. "I trust, Neville, that a wizard such as yourself will do your family proud."

There were faint underlying barbs in Nymphadora's comment.

"I'll do my best." Neville replied in a neutral tone.

Nymphadora eyed Neville as if deciding whether or not to take offence, then nodded.

"We'll see what sort of wizard you are, maybe, when you're sorted."

She left, leaving behind her a lingering impression of aristocratic superiority for a few moments after the door trundled shut, and having feigned not to deign to notice either Sophie or Hermione.

"Nymphadora Black: seventh year Hufflepuff and head-girl." Erica said. "Her father was one of Voldemort's leading Death Eaters, but because he was a muggle-born nobody ever suspected he could be anything bad until he was caught in the aftermath of the attack on the Potters at the end of the Wizarding War. Apparently he kept his wife under the Imperius Curse once they were married. He's been in Azkaban practically ever since the war ended, and whilst Nymphadora and her younger sisters have been raised since then by her mother – who was freed of the curse – Nymphadora seems a bit messed up at times." She looked at Hermione and Sophie. "Err, did what I just said make sense to you?"

Sophie nodded, but Hermione shook her head.

"I've seen it mentioned several times in first-year textbooks, but I'm not sure what the 'Imperius Curse' is." Hermione said.

"It's one of the 'Unforgiveable' curses which my grandfather mentioned to you back at St. Pancras, when touching on magical law." Sophie sighed. Either Hermione had only been half paying attention, or maybe she'd just been suffering from information overload.

"That's right, it's one of three spells that it's considered to be a criminal offence to use on another person except under the most extenuating of circumstances." Erica added. "The Imperius Curse is a spell a witch or wizard uses to completely control the actions of another creature."

Hermione shuddered.

"That's _horrible_."

"Which is why, along with the Killing Curse, which is instant death to any living creature it hits, and the Cruciatus Curse, which is horrific pain, they're called 'Unforgiveables' and carry the minimum sentence of Azkaban." Neville said, solemnly.

They sat in contemplative silence for a bit, until a gaggle of half a dozen boys happened by, predictably looking for 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'.

"That does it." Sophie said, unzipping her bag, and producing a piece of scrap paper, a biro, and a roll of sellotape.

"What are you doing?" Neville asked.

"Putting up a notice." Sophie replied.

She wrote on the paper in big bold letters: NOBODY IN THIS COMPARTMENT IS GOING TO ADMIT TO BEING 'THE-GIRL-WHO-LIVED', SO PLEASE DON'T ASK.

Then she put the biro away back in the bag, and retrieved one of her customised goblin-crafted items.

"Err, what is _that_, Sophie?" Neville asked.

"It's a silver potions knife." Sophie said, starting to unroll a strip of sellotape. "Well, goblin-forged silver, actually, but I'm assured it will still carry out the usual functions of a potions knife." She extracted it from its sheath and started to neatly cut off sections of the sellotape.

"I'm reasonably certain potions knives don't _usually_ look like that." Neville said.

"There isn't anything in the school rules against potions knives having a balance and edge remarkably similar to a throwing knife." Sophie replied, having now affixed strips of tape to the top and bottom edges of her impromptu notice. "So long as a student is able to carry out proper ingredient preparation without unduly endangering him or herself or any work partner, anything goes." She put her knife and the sellotape away.

Hermione looked shocked.

"But knives are _dangerous_, and throwing knives especially so."

"Hermione: Wands are dangerous, and every single pupil at the school is going to carry one of those." Neville pointed out. "And I seriously doubt, unless she's been training in a muggle circus since she was born or something, that Sophie has any hope of causing anyone any serious harm with a throwing knife right now. It's not like she's that fictional muggle hero, James Bomb, or whatever his name is."

"Bond." Hermione corrected. "The name's James Bond. And how come you've heard of him, anyway?"

"Gran thought it would be a good idea for me to occasionally watch some muggle films in case there are any useful ideas about dealing with werewolves in those. Well that was what she _said_, but I think she was actually trying to get me to be friends with a witch a few months older than me called Amanda Brocklehurst. I used to go around to the Brocklehursts', to watch videos, and one time there'd been a mix up at the shop they borrowed them from, and it was a James Bond film instead of '_Full-Moon Three: The Claws of Dracula_'."

Sophie had meanwhile fixed the notice up in the window of the compartment door, facing out into the corridor.

"Well with this up, hopefully we won't be bothered so much now." she said.

* * *

><p>Scenery zipped past the windows at a respectable speed. The locomotive apparently had a good working head of steam.<p>

Neville and Hermione fell back on discussing houses. Hermione expressed that she was impressed with Gryffindor, because the headmaster and the deputy headmistress had both been in it, but doubted she had the bravery to fit easily in 'the house of lions'. (Sophie considered that was a pretty accurate self-assessment, but tactfully refrained from comment.) Neville made reassuring remarks to Hermione about her obvious interest in knowledge. Hermione looked dubious about the prospect of Ravenclaw. She said Hufflepuff would be a good idea if it meant having friends.

Erica politely intervened and pointed out that although a Hufflepuff sorting was often thought of as being a placement guaranteed to win friends, one still had to _work_ at it. Neville said he thought he'd end up in Slytherin or Gryffindor, to distract Hermione from taking Erica's comment _too_ harshly. He inquired what sort of reputation Slytherin had these days?

Erica responded that although the last dark lord known to bother wizarding Britain had come from Slytherin, it had also been the house of Regulus Black who had been part of a hardcore of neutrals more interested in trying to hold society together than supporting any side during the Wizarding War. Even after Regulus' premature demise, a charitable foundation which he had established, funded by the Black fortune, to support Hogwarts and other causes that should, in theory, be politically neutral had continued to do work in his name and memory. The situation of Slytherin house's reputation was consequently complicated, made more so by the fact that some Gryffindors seemed unwilling to let their house's traditional hatred of anything Slytherin lapse entirely.

Several groups or individuals wandering along the corridor looked at the notice on the door and decided not to intrude upon the ongoing discussion.

A big redheaded boy who had the gormless look of a first year came into the compartment anyway, just as Sophie was about to raise a point which interested her _greatly_ of what evidence there actually _was_ that the Hogwarts founder Salazar Slytherin had _actually_ been as rabidly anti-muggle and blood-purist as some books claimed?

There was something about the new boy's face and hair-colour which reminded Sophie of the prefect, Percy Weasley, although somehow he didn't look as if he was as intelligent as Percy, even allowing for the age difference.

"Have any of you…" he began but stopped and trailed off. "Longbottom." he said, eyeing Neville.

"Do I know you?" Neville asked.

"Weasley. Ron Weasley." the redhead said, sounding angry about something.

Neville made a face, and muttered something under his breath which sounded to Sophie like: 'Oh Merlin!'

"Look, I'm sorry about your uncle Gideon, Ron, but my parents…" Neville said out loud.

"And here it comes, the long list of excuses." Ron said bitterly. "The 'oh, they were out of their minds', or 'oh, they were doing it to stop their own families from being killed' or 'oh, they were bullied unfairly at school' or 'oh, they were being magically controlled'. Well, _Longbottom_: I'm going to be watching you extra-carefully, to see if you go the same way as your parents, and if you do, with The-Girl-Who-Lived at Hogwarts this year, I reckon you won't last long."

And he turned and stormed out of the compartment.

There was an embarrassed silence for a few moments.

"His uncle, Gideon Prewett, was there that night in November." Neville explained, a distant look on his face. "It's always the families of the other innocent victims who were there that night that I have the most trouble with. Some of them are pretty cool about it – Ron's parents are at least prepared to entertain the idea that maybe my parents were injured parties in it too – but others are less so." And Neville gave a tired smile, that would not altogether look out of place on someone older than his years.

Erica looked sympathetic. Hermione looked thoroughly confused – of course _she_ had no idea about stories unrelated to The-Girl-Who-Lived and hadn't been there on the platform earlier when Neville had been over what he knew with Sophie – and opened her mouth to say something. Then she apparently thought better of it, and shrugged.

"Nevermind. Later." Hermione said.

Sophie sighed, suspecting that the moment for a discussion regarding Salazar Slytherin and what ideologies he may or may not have actually espoused had passed unless she wanted to completely wreck the mood. She unzipped her bag and retrieved her 'travel' set of the game _Battleship_.

"Team game?" she suggested.

* * *

><p>They played through several combinations of teams. Hermione was familiar with the game but neither Neville nor Erica had come across it before, although it was simple enough for them to pick it up quickly. Sophie found it interesting to see how the others played. Hermione frowned a lot and scrunched up her nose, almost glaring at the board, as if trying to calculate the best possible strategy. Neville was more laid-back and seemingly relaxed, but given to occasional narrowing of his eyes, and seemed to be able to pretty effectively 'read' the reactions of at least Hermione and Erica for how close he was coming with shots. Erica just went along with it for the fun of it, and left whomever she was playing alongside to come up with strategy, although she insisted on calling at least one shot in three.<p>

They got through several games, and were midway through another when the prefects came along the corridor, knocking on doors and announcing 'ten minutes from Crewe'.

"Excuse me." Erica said. "Duty up front in the baggage van calls."

That left Hermione on her own to be completely demolished by the Sophie/Neville combination.

"Why can't ships move around the grid?" Neville asked.

"The games would go on a _long_ time if they could." Hermione said. "Unless someone was really lucky."

"Not if there was an adjustment to allow multiple shots at the same time." Neville said. "And maybe once a ship was hit it had to stop."

Hermione looked dubious.

"I'm not sure how the numbers would come out. Or how you'd even _start_ to analyse what the right number of shots ought to be."

The train was starting to noticeably slow, and train tracks to spread around them on either side. Crewe was at a major railway junction.

"Extensive testing?" Neville suggested.

"I suppose if you were clever and had a computer, you could write a program to test things out." Hermione said.

"Computer?" Neville looked lost.

"It's a machine people who aren't witches and wizards can use to do all sorts of things. Some of them can play chess or store lots of facts. They use electricity though, so I don't suppose one would work around anywhere magical…" Hermione said. She looked at Sophie: "Did you know that since Hogwarts is a strongly magical area, devices such as wristwatches and calculators won't?..."

"Which is why I have a windup watch." Sophie produced it and inspected it. With a gentle squealing of brakes, the train was rolling to a stop on a platform at Crewe. "If this is keeping good time, we're about five minutes early."

"Why a pocket watch?" Hermione was curious. "You can get windup wristwatches, you know."

"I'm concerned a wristwatch might affect my hand and wrist movements slightly when it comes to casting spells." Sophie said.

"But you only have a wand in one hand." Hermione said. "You could just have the watch on the wrist of the hand you don't use."

Sophie sighed, drew her wand, muttered '_vermillious_' and shot a modest shower of reddish sparks from her wand into the air for a few moments with her right hand, then flipped the wand to her left hand and repeated the performance.

"Ambidextrous." Sophie said. "I'm practically as good with the one hand as the other."

"If you had another wand, could you use a wand in each hand at the same time?" Neville looked thoughtful.

"Not to simultaneously cast different spells with." Sophie said. She'd checked that with the instructors she'd had at Gringotts. "Since I'm neither crazy nor possessed. Believe me, I've asked, but apparently you need one mind per spell, and if you're trying to cast one spell with lots of wands at one target you can just hold them all in the same hand – although casting with more than one it's a bit risky whether the spell will work properly."

The sound of doors opening was easing off now, as the initial rush for the platform eased.

"We're going to be here for a bit, as they add the restaurant and kitchen cars, so if you'll excuse me, but I'm going out to stretch my legs and take a look around." Sophie said.

"I'll come with you." Neville said.

"I'll stay here and mind the seats." Hermione said. "And keep an eye on your owl, Neville. Err, Sophie: If that was a copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ which I saw when you were getting sellotape and other stuff out of your bag, I'd like to borrow it please to check some things."

"If you're going to do some reading," Sophie said, restoring her wand to its sheath and rummaging in her bag, "you might find _this_ useful if you haven't seen it before" and flipped at Hermione a book which was one of the less detailed books on prominent families in 'Wizarding Britain'. It actually had an index and was fast to reference, and had the advantage that Sophie hadn't yet scribbled all over the margins things she might not want Hermione to read – plus it was one of the books which mentioned the Potters, but _not_ Sophie's middle name.

Hermione caught the book inexpertly and looked at the title. Neville glanced at it too.

"That's probably a good basic book to give you some idea of history and politics, if you come from completely outside." Neville said.

"Oh, right." Hermione said.

* * *

><p>"I hope I don't sound unkind, but it's a relief to get away from her." Neville said to Sophie as they stepped out onto the platform.<p>

"She's trying to rein it in – most of the time. My grandfather explained a thing or two to her very clearly, which she seems to have paid attention to, if not completely understood. You should have seen her father – the way he acts probably explains _a lot_ about why she's the way that she is, if he had any major part in bringing her up." Sophie reined _herself_ in. "Still, not polite to talk about someone behind their back."

"Did you have any plans other than to get some fresh air? Well, fresh air with steam locomotive smells?" Neville asked.

"Not in particular." Sophie shrugged. "I suppose we could wander up front though, and see what Erica's doing. I don't think she was planning to assist in the vans _before_ the head-girl stopped by, and I wonder if she's found anything to do?"

* * *

><p>Sophie and Neville made their way along the platform and there, amongst those waiting for the baggage van doors to open, was the blond haired boy, whom she'd last seen with a despairing look on his face on the platform, back in London, as the Express departed St. Pancras. He was accompanied by the same blonde haired woman, and both were wearing slightly rumpled, if smart, clothes.<p>

The boy had a mildly put-out expression on his face; the woman looked as if, once she was off the platform, she wanted to hunt someone down and roast them very slowly on a spit over a nice hot fire.

"What have you spotted?" Neville asked.

"Those two." Sophie pointed. "I think they're a pair who just missed the train at St. Pancras. If it _is_ them, I suppose they must have used magic to make their way up here."

"They could have floo'ed. All the stations have temporary connections on Express day." Neville pondered. "I don't recognise them, so they can't be particularly prominent witches and wizards, but the way they're dressed suggests a crossover of fashions between magical and muggle Britain."

The boy was dressed in a white shirt, and dark trousers and a frock coat. The woman was wearing some sort of black dress and cream coloured blouse.

"Excuse me? Are you The-Girl-Who-Lived?" a dark-haired student who was maybe third or fourth year, with a strong Welsh accent intruded.

Sophie wondered for a moment why this was starting up again, then remembered that there was no sign out here, telling people not to bother asking.

The Welsh accent spared this new interloper Sophie's most dire wrath. He sounded so polite and nice.

"Do I _look_ like I have a unicorn or eagle, or normally live in a cloud castle?" Sophie asked patiently. (Neville stood aside a little to watch the conversation with interest.)

"Well, _no_, but you could be a humorous witch, sort of like a female Dic Spot, and pranking everyone by looking so unextraordinary." the pupil said.

"Right, and if I _were_ pranking you, would I just tell you, if you asked me straight out, that I _was_ The-Girl-Who-Lived?"

"Well, no, not unless you actually weren't." the other conceded.

"Right. So let's say I tell you here and now that I _am_ The-Girl-Who-Lived? What conclusion does that lead you to draw?"

The older pupil stared at her, going cross-eyed as he concentrated.

"Umm, that you're confusing me?" he said at last.

"Right." Sophie said. "And does that help you at all?"

"Err, no. Look, I'm Huw Lloyd, and I'm a Hufflepuff, plain and simple, not one of those Ravenclaw brainboxes, or sneaky Slytherins. I just wanted to meet a real-life heroine, and shake her by the hand. Given everything she's done for us."

"Do you have a notepad or some other piece of paper, Huw, and anything such as a pencil?" Sophie asked. An impish thought had struck her.

"Umm, here." Huw fumbled in a pocket and brought out a small, grotty, notebook, and a pencil.

Sophie took them, found a blank page, and doodled a quick sketch of a stick-figure girl with a halo over her head and a wand in hand, then handed the pencil and notebook back.

Huw stared at the page, mystified.

"What's this?"

"The signature of a great-granddaughter of a man who _was_ a mighty hero. And maybe some day I _will_ turn out to be a heroine worth the name."

"What was that about?" Neville asked Sophie as they resumed their travel in the direction of the baggage vans.

"One of my great-grandfathers was a man named Simon Templar."

"Ah." said Neville, surprising Sophie.

"What? You mean you've heard of him?"

"No," Neville said, "but clearly you think that I _should_ know about him, and so I will ask gran to undertake independent research."

The doors of one of the vans were now open, and trunks and other odds and ends were being taken aboard. Sophie spotted Erica lurking in the background amongst the house-elves inside the van with a clipboard and quill, doing something.

Up at the front of the train, a long pipe had been unrolled from somewhere in an upper level of the station, and was being fed into a hatch on the top of the locomotive – Sophie presumed more water was being taken on board.

Passengers standing on other platforms were completely ignoring the goblins standing on the locomotive footplate, or scrambling around with the pipe.

More magic like there'd been at St. Pancras, Sophie figured.

Meanwhile, from beyond the rear of the train, there was a shrill whistle, and a small locomotive could be seen bringing up a couple more carriages – presumably the restaurant and kitchen cars.

Ernie Macmillan appeared from somewhere and buttonholed Neville to tell him about some shy French girl called 'Genevieve' who had made her way into Ernie's compartment and buried herself in a corner, hiding behind a large dictionary, and only surfacing to give occasional puzzled responses of 'Oui?' or 'Qu'est-ce que c'est?' in response to enquiries about The-Girl-Who-Lived. Apparently after Stephen Cornfoot had fled Erica, carrying tales of terror with him, he had gone to ground in that compartment, too. Stephen had claimed to have some knowledge of French, but had yet to be successfully induced to try it out on Genevieve. Anthony Goldstein, another first year pupil, had proclaimed similar knowledge and actually tried to communicate. He had been met with a sudden outbreak of laughter, and a volley of remarks that he'd been completely unable to keep up with or even begin to comprehend.

Neville in return briefed Ernie on the current ongoing 'Hermione Granger' situation, and assured him that thus far Erica had utterly failed to physically harm anyone with a deathly stare.

Meanwhile Sophie had been observing the pair who'd just missed the train at St. Pancras.

The woman had produced a trunk from a pocket, in much the same fashion as Neville's gran had, back in London, and made it grow to full size, to be loaded aboard. They looked to now have moved on to embrace and kiss goodbye stage.

"Well, anything to report?" Neville asked. He and Ernie had finished exchanging news.

"I don't know." Sophie said. "We can always ambush him if we like, if he comes along the train looking for The-Girl-Who-Lived and ask him what happened at St. Pancras? I'm pretty sure it's the same boy and woman."

"I wonder," pondered Neville, "if knowing Erica might get us good seats and guarantee us a nice table in the restaurant car?"

He glanced back down the platform to the rear of the train where operations were now well under way to attach the aforementioned carriage and its supporting kitchen to the train…

"Aren't there supposed to be food-trolleys going up and down the train too, and won't they be cheaper?" Sophie said.

"I'm a Longbottom." Neville shrugged. "Whilst not as wealthy as the Blacks, we have more than the odd couple of galleons to rub together, and when I said goodbye to her gran said something about it being a good idea to get practice in taking polite young witches out to lunch. I think she meant just you, but it would be rude not to at least _offer_ Hermione and Erica too, I suppose."

* * *

><p>Hermione had mumbled something about wanting to stay put and read as much of the book Sophie had leant her as possible before getting to Hogwarts, when invited to lunch. She was turning the pages as fast as possible, and said she'd get something off one of the trolleys when it called by. Neville expressed disappointment, and Hermione was so engrossed in her reading that she couldn't have noticed the slight look of relief on Neville's face.<p>

Erica, returned from her baggage van duties, shrugged and agreed to join Sophie and Neville. Neville brought his owl along, too.

Any 'lunch rush' had yet to commence when they entered the restaurant car, and they had a choice of several tables. They sat down and ordered. Sophie and Erica ordered omelettes, and Neville ordered a steak and kidney pie for himself, and a side-plate of bacon for Nimrod.

They also ordered fruit juice to drink, and ice-cream to follow for dessert.

They had lunch as the Cheshire Plains rolled past, with initial glimpses of the huge radio telescope at Jodrell Bank, and then crossed the Manchester Ship Canal and River Mersey into Warrington.

Tall metal chimneys, and the buildings of industries old and more modern loomed around the railway line.

They were heading into Lancashire, with its procession of mill towns.

The other diners in the restaurant car consisted mostly of upper year pupils, apparently dating, although there was a table of prefects discussing things in a tone which must be magically muted except when the waitress 'Arabella Figg' stopped by bringing something or taking an order. There was also a lone brown skinned man with a dark turban and beard, who worked his way slowly through a bowl of French onion soup whilst reading a periodical.

That solitary eater, Erica explained, was this year's defence against the dark arts teacher, Professor Jagmohan Singh. Every year, Hogwarts had a different teacher, on an eleven month contract, under the supervision of Hogwarts' long-term 'director of defence against the dark arts', Professor Richert Wagner.

"Why's there a different teacher every year?" Sophie asked.

"I think the headmaster likes to try and keep pupils informed on defence against dark arts from right around the world." Erica shrugged. "Last year we had a teacher from Japan; the year before that there was an Egyptian. Professor Wagner does the core stuff and makes sure that everything transitions smoothly. Professor Wagner's been there as long as _I_ can remember. Anyway, the new teacher always travels to Hogwarts on the Express at the start of a school year."

Professor Singh concluded his soup, picked up his journal, paid his bill, and departed, a faint scent of onions and garlic accompanying him as he went.

At last they finished eating, Neville requested the bill, and then needed a bit of assistance from the girls and a piece of scrap paper to work out what an appropriate tip to leave would be.

"I have to admit that whilst I believe galleons, sickles and knuts to be superior coins to what they have in the muggle world, they're a nuisance for when it comes to trying to work out fractions." Neville said.

He paid and they left.

They found Hermione still reading fervently, back in their compartment, although there were now a few crumbs on the floor and some empty wrappers in the compartment bin.

"I've had several dozen people coming past convinced that I'm 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' in disguise whilst you were out to lunch." Hermione complained as Neville hung his owl (in cage) back on the rack above him. "Apparently someone's started a silly rumour. So I started one right back, that 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' is _actually_ disguised as that awful Weasley boy who came by earlier, and I've been left alone since." She wrinkled her nose. "There's a potion, I'm sure, which allows people to disguise themselves as someone else, even if they're a member of the other sex. 'Polyjuice', I think."

"Wouldn't that mean there'd be _two_ Ron Weasleys on the train?" Neville frowned.

"Not if the real Ron Weasley has skipped the train ride, and been moved ahead to Hogwarts, as part of a security operation to assist the headmaster." Hermione said. "Which I _also_ included in the rumour. I didn't want people wondering why they could only see one Ron on the train? I wanted it to be halfway believable, so they'd leave me in peace, after all."

"Hermione. Do you know what you've just done?" Sophie asked.

"Made sure I got some undisturbed reading in?" Hermione said, looking uncertain.

"Anyone who believed you is now going to think that 'The-Girl-Who Lived' is capable of acting like Ron Weasley…" Sophie had to bite off adding a 'you idiot'.

"Oh." said Hermione and looked worried.

Sophie had no idea how many people at this point would think it credible that a famous girl whom nobody had ever seen would disguise herself as Ron Weasley, but at the very least, right now, she wanted witnesses, and preferably credible ones, who had seen her and Ron Weasley at the same time in the same place as one another. That way, at least once it came out that Sophie _was_ 'The-Girl-With-The-Imaginary-Unicorn' nobody would think she _had_ been Ron Weasley.

"I'm going to go look for Ron, and see how credible others think this rumour you've started is." Sophie said.

"Why, Sophie?" Hermione frowned. "What good will that do?"

"I'll think of something." Sophie said. "I'm good in a crisis."

So far those crises had tended to be nothing more than one of her (non-magical) friends leaving their school-bag on a bus one day, or being abandoned at a swimming baths by an irresponsible parent of one of said friends following a 'family emergency' disrupting a swimming party.

"Fine. I'll go with you." Erica said. "This should be fun."

"I think I'd best stay put here." Neville said. "Given Ron's earlier reaction to me, I doubt if he sees me it'll be at all helpful."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I've done enough damage already." Hermione said. "I'll stay out of this."

Sophie and Neville exchanged glances, and Sophie concluded that Neville could be relied on to make sure that Hermione didn't put her foot in her mouth yet again whilst she and Erica were elsewhere.

She nodded slightly, and then she and Erica set off.

* * *

><p>"So what's your plan?" Erica said, as they headed into the corridor.<p>

"Would it be safe to assume that Ron Weasley is related to the fifth year prefect, Percy Weasley?" Sophie asked.

"Probably." Erica said. "I know Percy's got twin brothers in the third year, and has older brothers who've already left. I think there's another brother due to start this year who could be Ron. Ron certainly has the same hair as Percy and the twins." She paused. "You've met Percy then?"

"On the platform at St. Pancras."

"Ah." Erica nodded.

"I'm hoping Percy might have some idea of where Ron might be, and be able to exert some older relative influence if necessary." Sophie said. "And a prefect being around should help to keep things from turning nasty if they haven't gone that way already. So: How do we find Percy?"

"The prefects, head-boy and girl, and defence teacher have a block of several compartments in the middle of the train." Erica said. "They're the ones with blacked-out windows to give them some privacy. If Percy's not out on patrol or having lunch, he ought to be there. We passed it on the way to and from lunch."

"We'll check there first then." Sophie said.

* * *

><p>It took a couple of knocks on doors to find Prefect Percy Weasley.<p>

"What is it?" he asked, looking slightly out of breath and annoyed. In the background Penelope Clearwater could be seen, rearranging her hair.

"We think someone may have started a rumour about a first year called Ron Weasley." Sophie said. "We thought he might be a relative of yours and wanted to be sure that he's okay."

"What sort of rumour?" Percy asked, looking at Erica.

"That he's actually been taken to the castle in secret, and that it's not Ron Weasley on the train, but 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' using a polyjuice potion." Erica said.

Percy looked exasperated.

"If this turns out to be Fred and George's idea of a joke, they're going to be in detention for a week."

"What's going on?" Penelope Clearwater called out to Percy.

"My little brother, Ron, has been targeted by a scurrilous rumour, Erica Snape and a first year girl report. I'd best go and check how he's taking it and warn him not to do anything stupid, if he hasn't already. Ron has difficulty controlling his temper at times."

Penelope muttered something not very complimentary about a so-and-so little brother managing to intrude himself on the free time of a _responsible_ elder brother, before conceding Percy had probably best go and make sure Ron was okay.

"The last I saw, Fred, George, and Ron were all in a compartment at the back of the train, near the restaurant car." Percy said to Sophie and Erica.

They set off.

* * *

><p>On the way down the train they passed a couple of other prefects, out on patrol, who nodded to Percy, and made an enquiry, to which he snapped 'family' in a tone which conveyed all that they needed to know.<p>

As they entered the last carriage before the restaurant car, it became apparent that something was going on, with people peering out of doors at a disturbance part in, part out, of one compartment.

Percy pulled his wand out, and increased his pace as a series of whistles and calls of 'prefect coming' spread down the carriage, causing people to duck back into compartments, and to cautiously poke their heads out again afterwards in Percy's wake to see what happened next.

There was a confused and heaving mass of bodies spread in the corridor around the entrance to one compartment, in which several redheaded boys were visible, the blond-haired boy who Sophie was sure had missed the train at St. Pancras, the girl 'Tracey Davis' who had seemed certain she'd be sorted into Slytherin, and her 'minders' Gregory and Vincent.

"Just _what_ is going on _here_?" Percy demanded, in tones of icy fury, having got the attention of the combatants by waving his wand and causing a loud _BANG!_

The mass started to break up.

"Oh crap, brother-mine, t'is our brother the prefect." one of the redheaded boys grumbled.

"We barely start to enjoy ourselves, and he shows up." another grumbled, who might resemble the first were it not for the slightly differently dishevelled state of his robes and a black eye.

"They started it. It's all an evil plot by Neville Longbottom and his girlfriend Davis." the voice of Ron Weasley sobbed from somewhere close to the floor.

Tracey Davis scowled, sitting up.

"I am _not_ anybody's girlfriend, and I certainly wouldn't consider a son of two dark creatures like the Longbottoms as even a friend without _lots_ of convincing. And anyway, I don't see any Longbottom here."

The blond boy stood up, started to dust himself off and glanced at Percy.

"A Weasley with a prefect badge? And a Slytherin?" He bowed. "Draco Malfoy at your service."

Vincent and Gregory made an effort to sit up, but found the effort too painful and instead groaned and slumped back against the side of the carriage.

"He's a dangerous one, is Draco," said the almost-identical Weasley without the black eye.

"But we like him." added the other.

"We want to keep him as a pet if he gets sorted into Ravenclaw." said the first.

"I dearly hope I end up somewhere else then." Draco shuddered.

"I _repeat_:" Percy Weasley said. "Just what exactly is going on? You have half a minute to explain before I send for the head-boy and girl."

A series of confusing explanations broke out.

After approximately half a minute Percy muttered something under his breath, waved his wand, and worked some sort of message spell to send for the head-boy and girl anyway.

Matters did not improve when, moments later, Ron noticed Erica and Sophie for the first time, and roared:

"It's them! They're in league with Longbottom!" before grabbing for a wand and making to wave it at Sophie.

Sophie's reaction was instinctive. She drew her own wand and disarmed him with an _expelliarmus_ before she had the opportunity to discover if he actually knew anything which might be harmful.

There was a stunned silence as everyone looked at Sophie.

"Is that a _firstie_?" the Weasley with the black-eye whispered in awe.

"Say it's not so." the other returned.

"Three guesses whom she must be if she _is_." the Weasley with the black-eye said.

It belatedly occurred to Sophie that although the school rules permitted the use of a disarming charm if you had credible witnesses to the fact that another pupil pulled a wand on you, tactically it might have been better for her to simply drop to the floor or dive for a nearby compartment instead of demonstrating her fast draw and efficient disarm. Oh well, there were at least plenty of witnesses now who would later remember that she had quite clearly _not_ been impersonating Ron Weasley with polyjuice potion on this occasion.

"I had some practice with some licensed instructors over the holidays." she said, shrugging and trying to make it sound as if it was anything which anyone might have done. "My grandfather thinks self-defence is _very_ important."

The near-identical Weasleys didn't seem convinced, but miraculously everyone else in the vicinity was prepared to suddenly think that nothing extraordinary had just happened.

Sophie made a mental note that saying something in a sufficiently calm voice could be surprisingly effective at influencing school-age witches and wizards.

And then the head-girl Nymphadora Black arrived, trailing a boy in school robes and with an identical shield badge to her own in her wake. (The latter subsequently turned out to be the head-boy, although he didn't contribute much except to stay quiet and take notes.) Nymphadora made it very clear that _she_ was now in charge and once the explanations started up again she also made it clear how highly annoyed she was that the start of her tenure as head-girl had been marked by a brawl like this on board the Hogwarts Express. She started to hand out detentions like Christmas presents.

Sophie felt she was rather lucky to have arrived on the scene _after_ the main event, and to have a reliable witness (Percy Weasley, prefect) that her only part in the fracas had been to defend herself against Percy's considerably less sensible youngest brother.

* * *

><p>Gradually the 'truth' of what had happened had emerged. Ron (full name, for the detention record, 'Ronald Bilius Weasley') had somehow misplaced a pet rat since boarding the Express. Bereft at his loss and sulking and beset by rumours flying around the train that he was a girl in disguise – and not assisted in his mood regarding the latter by the attitudes of his twin brothers, Fred and George, with whom he had been sitting who thought the rumours were hilarious – Ron had looked up in answer to a knock to find Draco Malfoy at the compartment door. Apparently the Malfoys and Weasleys had some sort of 'history', and it was <em>not<em> history Ron considered to be of a positive variety. Draco had barely got beyond giving his name by way of introduction when Ron had assumed that Draco was a participant in some nefarious plot targeted against him, Ronald Bilius Weasley, personally, and physically launched himself at his perceived enemy.

Draco had neatly sidestepped and floored Ron, making a few casual remarks in response to some sneers Ron made about the Malfoy family's presumed poverty.

Whilst Fred and George had been enjoying Ron's discomfort over his being purportedly a girl in disguise, they _did_ feel a certain protectiveness about their brother when it came to a physical brawl with a non-Weasley, and had moved in to physically engage with Draco, despite wild assertions by Ron that he could 'take Draco on his own' and neither wanted nor needed their help.

In a masterpiece of bad timing, Tracey Davis had happened to be passing along the corridor at that moment, along with Gregory and Vincent, and she had apparently had some sort of grudge of her own against the Weasleys or point that she felt she needed to make. She had recklessly flung herself and her cohorts into the fray. It seemed she had also wanted to take a piece out of Draco too, for some reason.

A rather confusing four-way battle had developed by the time Sophie, Erica, and Percy had arrived upon the scene, with the twins Fred and George, Ron, Draco, and Tracey plus her companions representing the different sides.

The process of getting all the accounts of just what had happened was taking some time and, with Morecombe Bay now sliding past on the left of the train, the head-girl decided it was necessary to dispatch Erica with a message for the other prefects on the train, and then told her to 'head on up to the front for Carnforth'.

After Erica left explanations continued to be traded. More detentions were awarded. Ron Weasley acquired additional ones for laying hands on the wand of another pupil without that pupil's permission (it turned out to be Vincent's which he'd grabbed) and for attempting to attack a fellow first year with it. Yet further detentions were added for unsubstantiated slander when Ron whined yet again about how this was all an evil plot by the absent Longbottom, but failed to provide evidence to back up his opinion.

Sophie had been _trying_ to keep track of all the detentions that the head-girl had been awarding, whilst the head-boy frantically scribbled the details of them on a piece of parchment, and reckoned that Ron was by now close to being in detention every weekend up until Christmas.

Percy gave Ron a disapproving look.

Fred and George pretended to look embarrassed at being related to Ron. (Sophie was reasonably sure some of this was only a performance of distancing themselves to avoid drawing the head-girl's further wrath to themselves.)

Ron finally seemed to realise that further words on his part were only likely to add to his agonies and subsided into sullen silence.

Sophie wondered what was going to happen to Ron once it became known that it was The-Girl-Who-Lived that he'd accused of being an evil witch in league with the evil wizard Longbottom? She _almost_ felt sorry for him.

It was probably a good thing that Hermione and Neville had been off the scene. Sophie didn't doubt their presence would have only exacerbated the situation.

Meanwhile, the train had arrived at Carnforth, and pupils were getting off to stretch their legs and no doubt swapping gossip about what had been going on in the carriage adjacent to the restaurant car. Several on their way to and from the restaurant who had clearly wanted to pause and gape had had to be ordered to move on by the head-girl.

Somewhere at the front of the train, an additional locomotive was being added for the journey over Shap.

Given the head-girl's current detention-awarding mood, Sophie didn't like to try and excuse herself from the scene to go and see this manoeuvre. She remained put, adjacent to Percy, and did her best to look as unextraordinary as possible. She hoped Erica had informed Neville and Hermione of what was going on, on her way up front, and warned them not to go looking.

Eventually the slamming of doors subsided, and the Express resumed motion.

The head-girl finally started to run out of steam.

She delivered a stinging lecture on 'wizards and a witch all from families who _should_ know to conduct themselves better' (the witch she had in mind was Tracey, she made clear), awarded a couple more detentions seemingly at random, and turned to find Erica (who had by now returned from her duties up front) waiting. They exchanged a few words regarding Carnforth then the head-girl swept off, trailing the head-boy once again in her wake.

Only once Nymphadora Black was quite clearly out of sight and earshot did the sighs of relief and exchanged glances start and the onlookers (innocent or otherwise) begin to disperse or retreat back into compartments.

"Well, Ronniekins: I believe you must have just smashed the record for the most detentions acquired in a school year before the Sorting has even taken place." the twin without the black eye commented.

"I hate you." Ron said and headed back into the compartment this had all taken place outside. Despite his professed hatred, he was still apparently prepared to put up with their company, though.

The twins exchanged glances with Percy, and followed Ron back in.

Draco Malfoy and Tracey Davis swapped rude remarks with one another, then Tracey disappeared in one direction, taking her wounded comrades with her, and Draco in the opposite one. Give or take the odd bruise, mussed hair, and slightly rumpled frock-coat, Draco actually looked in quite good shape despite the altercation he'd just been involved in.

"It's probably a good thing you came to fetch me." Percy sighed to Erica and Sophie, apparently accustomed to his brothers' follies. "Merlin knows what would have happened if that had gone on much longer."

He wandered off.

Somehow, Sophie had avoided the detentions flying in all directions, despite a couple of random bystanders who had simply been suspected of looking on and not acting 'responsibly' being hit with them by the head-girl. That was good. Sophie felt that she had a moral obligation to avoid being inconvenienced by detention, given that detention implied one had been caught breaking rules – and which on the 'being caught' count definitely went against family tradition on at least her mother's side of her family.

"I suppose we'd better go and update Hermione and Neville on what they missed." Erica said. "Don't worry. On my way up front I stopped by and told them there had been trouble but to stay put."

At least, Sophie thought, Hermione had managed to get something right.

* * *

><p>The Lakeland fells and outliers of the Pennines were rising all around the train, as the railway and an adjacent motorway wended their joint ways through the narrow gap between, by the time Erica and Sophie were done with their telling.<p>

"Wow." said Neville. "Good thing we stayed away."

"I'm surprised they're letting him into Hogwarts if he flips out like that." Hermione wrinkled her nose critically.

"He's a boy, Hermione. Grandfather says some boys look to get into fights as the answer to any difficult situation." Sophie said. Her grandfather had in fact had considerably more to say than that on the topic of boys and fights, some of which hadn't made much sense to Sophie, but she didn't want to confuse Hermione with things she probably couldn't handle.

As it was, Hermione was frowning as if trying to make sense of this piece of information.

"Oh." Hermione said at last. "That explains some things I saw at my last school. Why do you suppose they do it?"

Sophie considered that this was a topic likely to be _well_ above Hermione's ability to comprehend, given the social knowhow (or lack thereof) which she'd exhibited thus far. Some of it was beyond Sophie's current comprehension for that matter.

"They just do." Sophie said. "Like some girls like to make up nasty names or spend their time telling spiteful tales."

Hermione shrugged and went back to her reading, apparently missing the point that she had started a nasty rumour which had probably contributed to the recent Weasley meltdown.

"Classic ivory-tower Ravenclaw." Erica mouthed at Sophie and Neville. Sophie wasn't too clear what 'ivory-tower' was supposed to mean, but she could definitely see things which Hermione had in common with some of the known Ravenclaws whom Sophie had met thus far.

* * *

><p>They settled down for a while, Neville staring thoughtfully out of the window, Hermione continuing to read, Erica closing her eyes and seeming to feign sleep, and Sophie occasionally glancing out of the window or pulling a book out of her bag to check how something she'd seen in the past hour or so seemed to match up with things she'd read.<p>

Then a triumphant long double-whistleblast from up at the front of the train disturbed the peace.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Neville asked.

"I think we just reached the top of this stretch of the line." Erica said, opening her eyes for a moment. "The house-elves were talking at Carnforth about some sort of record the drivers were hoping to break for making the ascent with the Express."

Looking out of the window, it certainly seemed to Sophie that the Express was rapidly gathering speed, suggesting that a downhill run had commenced.

A couple of minutes later the peace was again disturbed when a knock at the compartment door announced the arrival of Draco Malfoy.

"Ahh, splendid, I've finally found you." Draco beamed at Sophie and Erica. He made a small bow and introduced himself in case they'd missed his name earlier. "Draco Malfoy at your service." He looked at Sophie. "That was nice spellwork you used when Ronald tried to turn a wand on you."

"I probably should have just jumped for cover." Sophie said, again trying to sound as unextraordinary about it as possible. "I'm Sophie, and this is Erica, Neville, and Hermione. If you don't mind my asking, were you the boy who just missed the train at St. Pancras? I saw someone running down the platform as we pulled out."

Erica opened her eyes once more, and turned her gaze on Draco, not contributing anything as yet, but _watching_ him.

Draco grimaced.

"Yes, that was mother and I. We were not informed of the misprinted information on the tickets, and ended up on the wrong platform at the wrong station, before realising something was amiss and calling by the Ministry of Magic to discover what was going on. Regrettably we were unable to then make it to St. Pancras in time." He switched topics, clearly preferring not to say any more on the matter. "I saw the notice on the door, but Sophie _Potter_, by any chance?"

"Sophie _Theresa_." Sophie said. She saw Draco's eyes light up and _knew_ in that instant that this was one wizard who actually _did_ know her full name. Oh well, it had been bound to happen sooner or later, and since this was Draco _Malfoy_ there was something she _could_ do about him. The Malfoys were the very family up to their necks in the 'dubiously provenanced' art trade that her grandfather had unearthed dirt upon. "I have about the same chance of being The-Girl-Who-Lived as you have of your father having attended a rather unusual auction in Rio de Janeiro a couple of months ago."

Draco paused in the act of opening his mouth to say something and frowned. It belatedly occurred to Sophie that she might have been too subtle, or that Draco might not have any idea what his father actually _did_ for a living.

Then he _grinned_.

"Right. A girl after my own heart." Draco beamed. "Father has heard about you and clearly wasn't wrong about the _important_ side of your family. He used to know your great-grandfather, Simon, I believe."

_Wait_: That was news to Sophie. Although if Draco's father _had_ been associating with certain elements of the non-magical world _before_ the end of the Wizarding War, the step up to fencing artwork after the war finished and destitution threatened might have been a natural progression. This sounded something important she was going to have to notify grandfather of though, as soon as possible.

"My Saintly ancestor." Sophie said, and she was sure from Draco's faint twitch at the word 'Saintly' that they were both reading from approximately the same script.

"You two know each other?" Neville frowned.

"Apparently some of our forebears did." Draco said airily. "This is the first time I have had the privilege of setting eyes on Sophie." He looked at Neville curiously. "You seem to be a fellow first year, Neville. If you wouldn't mind my enquiring, are you by any chance the Neville who is a 'Longbottom'?"

"Yes." Neville replied warily.

"I've heard some odd stories about your family and the end of the last war." Draco's frown returned.

"And it's common knowledge what happened between Crouch and the Ministry and the Malfoys." Neville replied.

"Father has nightmares about what he got himself into. If it had been just a case of only himself to think about back then, I sometimes think he would have preferred to go to Azkaban." Draco said. "But, he had mother and I. He hopes that I'm wiser in my choice of friends and the groups I hang around with than he was, at school." Draco glanced at Sophie for a moment, then back to Neville. "Given the company apparently prepared to trust you, Neville, I _want_ to give you the benefit of the doubt over your parents. I hope – in so far as the facts allow – you can do for me the same."

"Maybe." said Neville, guardedly.

They eyed one another for a few moments, then Draco turned his attention to Erica.

"And what kind of young lady does the head-girl send on errands?"

"I'm Erica Snape, Draco." Erica said. "I'm the eldest daughter of the school caretaker. My mother is also the history of magic teacher, which means I get to make jokes about having inherited tendencies to take care that anyone who gets too nosy about me magically becomes history." She beamed in a manner which was both friendly and reassuring whilst somehow actually rather menacing too.

Draco had the sense to hurriedly change targets.

"And you would be 'Hermione' who?" he asked.

"Granger. My parents are muggles who have their own dental surgery." Hermione sounded annoyed at being distracted from her reading. "No I do not know nearly enough about the magical world. No I am not The-Girl-Who-Lived. No I am not interested in chitchat about table-tennis or my hair colour or even Sherlock Holmes right now. Although if you have any interesting news on the Wizengamot or the Black family, I'm all ears."

"Actually my mother was a Black." Draco said, immediately getting Hermione's attention. "Her generation apparently didn't have a very happy time of things at the end of the Wizarding War, which I take it you've heard of?" Hermione nodded, so Draco went on. "Mother married father who had been foolish enough to get involved with the Death Eaters. Her sister Andromeda married another Death Eater. Their third sister didn't marry a Death Eater as far as I know, but _did_ commit some crime against the family so hideous she was publically repudiated and removed from the family tree – although given the reputation of the family at the time that 'crime' might have been something like rescuing an orphaned muggle-born from a burning house. One of their cousins, Sirius, was believed to be a member of an organization Dumbledore led, but apparently Sirius betrayed them and was sent to Azkaban for it after the war ended, along with Andromeda's husband. And the other cousin, Regulus, tried to stay politically neutral and got caught in the crossfire between a group of aurors and a group of Death Eaters and was killed."

"Were the Blacks as rich and influential as the books say?" Hermione asked, curiosity obvious in her tone.

"They _were_." Draco said. "But thanks to the various deaths and scandals, my aunt Andromeda has only a fraction of the wealth and allies she might have otherwise enjoyed in wizarding Britain and my mother has none – we Malfoys basically moved out of wizarding Britain in disgrace at the end of the war, and have been living amongst people who don't have magic. The family member who _really_ counts is Regulus' daughter, Kara. Regulus was the official Black heir when he died and he'd fiddled around with the family rules and somehow got things so that she was in line to practically inherit everything, even though she was a girl, but she's underage still and only due to start Hogwarts this year. I've been keeping an eye out for her on the train, but she seems to have been keeping a pretty low profile if she _is_ aboard. My parents haven't heard much about her over the years, but they think she's been in hiding from the Ministry. Once her uncle Sirius was in prison, if the Ministry could have found Kara before she was old enough to have a wand, they had legal grounds to appoint themselves her guardians and pretty much confiscate everything she was supposed to inherit or something, which was a _lot_. I guess there might be one or two rather cross officials at the Ministry that she made it to wand-age without coming to their attention."

"Are you related to the head-girl, Nymphadora Black?" Hermione pressed.

"Umm, sort of." Draco said. "She's Andromeda's oldest daughter and my cousin. Given the detentions she's already given me today, I really don't think she likes me very much."

"Did Andromeda resume her own name for herself and her daughter after her husband was sent to Azkaban?..." Hermione began then became aware of the looks Sophie, Neville, and Erica were giving her. "Sorry. That was a bit insensitive of me, possibly?" Hermione looked at Draco.

"No, no, it's okay." Draco said. "As far as I know, before he married, Andromeda's husband was a 'Tonks', but he was fanatic enough about old wizarding families that upon marriage he changed _his_ name to Black, as he felt there was more importance and status associated with the Black name. And maybe he wanted to distance himself from his own muggle-born roots as much as possible. But mother and father really don't like to talk about the past and the Black family much, beyond a certain point, with me. There's a lot I think they just want to forget."

"And I thought this book might be exaggerating." Hermione looked down at it, thoughtfully.

"Oh no." Draco shook his head. "It's probably being relatively polite. It wouldn't do to upset Aunt Andromeda. Her influence may be limited but she still _knows_ some people at the Ministry of Magic, and – it's reported – the last Minister for Magic, Bartemius Crouch. No, it's not a good idea to get on Aunt Andromeda's bad side at all…"

* * *

><p>Having outlined sufficient about the Blacks, to satisfy Hermione, Draco excused himself and headed off with a cheery wave and 'see you at Hogwarts'. He said something about wanting to see if he could find Kara, and about other people who he was 'supposed to try and catch up with'. A short while after that, the prefects came along the train announcing 'five minutes to Carlisle' and Erica disappeared. Hermione had buried herself back in the pages of the book Sophie had lent her.<p>

Shortly after that the train arrived at Carlisle.

"I think I'll head out onto the platform and take a look at the locomotives." Sophie said.

Hermione mumbled something to the effect of that being fine with her.

* * *

><p>"Okay, my curiosity's got the better of me now. What exactly <em>did<em> he do?" Neville asked. He had joined Sophie and a number of other pupils in watching the rather complicated manoeuvres up at the front of the train. _Aurora Borealis_ which was the locomotive that had been added at Carnforth was going to haul the Express on the final leg, through Carstairs and on to Hogsmeade, the station for Hogwarts, whilst _Star of the Depths_ was retired. This meant uncoupling both locomotives and switching them around, before recoupling _Aurora Borealis_.

Meanwhile at the rear of the train the restaurant and kitchen cars were being removed. It was mid-afternoon now with lunchtime well and truly past, and dinner was due to be provided at Hogwarts that evening.

"Who?" Sophie asked.

"Your great-grandfather. The one _Draco_ knows about. I could pretend to be only politely interested and to wait and ask gran, or I could just get it over with and ask you outright."

"He persuaded men and women who had come by their money by less-than-honest means to make sizeable donations to charity." Sophie said. "He worked on a ten percent commission basis. It's also a matter of public record that he was involved in the demise of a professor who had invented a rather horrible prototype weapon and the disappearance of all information pertaining to that weapon, but he was given a royal pardon for that and some other things involved with it. It's rumoured – purely _rumoured_, you understand – that he occasionally engaged in less-than-legal activities involving the demise or disappearances of various men and women of little use to society – basically criminals – and otherwise made the world a better place in general. Most of those demises or disappearances would of course have been technically illegal, and there isn't actually any evidence that he was responsible." Sophie paused. "Well. Not evidence admissible in a court of law."

"Oh." said Neville.

"He _helped_ people and as far as I understand, he was a casualty of the Wizarding War. But most witches and wizards don't care about him, because he was just another muggle. It's _stupid_."

"Most witches and wizards are good at stupid." Neville said. "Gran says it's because of most witches and wizards not feeling the need to think past 'it's magically possible' and missing out on exercising their brains properly as a result."

* * *

><p>The guard's whistle eventually blew, and they re-embarked the train, and since Hermione was still busy reading they had a few games of Battleship which were one-on-one once Erica returned, although those weren't as fun as the team games of the earlier part of the day.<p>

Neville and Erica were in the middle of a game when there came a knock on the door and a brown skinned boy who looked like another first year dressed in casual trousers, a t-shirt, and jacket poked his head in.

"Good afternoon." he said. He had a foreign accent. "I am searching for his highness, Suliman al Rashid. You wouldn't happen to have seen him anywhere? I'm Ja'far."

"No. We haven't seen him." Neville said, looking up from his 'board'. Hermione briefly glanced away from her reading, then gave a little snort and buried her nose back in the book.

There was a faint look of amusement in the eyes of 'Ja'far' which told Sophie that he was probably something other than he proclaimed. She frowned. Wasn't 'Ja'far' the name of a character in the Arabian Nights?

"Is it anything urgent?" Sophie asked.

"Not particularly. I got tired of being disturbed by people entering the compartment I was sitting in, looking for 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' or some young wizard called 'Ron Weasley' whom she might be disguised as, and thought I'd take a stroll up and down the train looking for one of the _other_ celebrities supposed to be on board."

Erica glanced at Ja'far and her lips tightened as she suppressed a smile.

"Well come in and sit down." Erica said. "You can always join us for a game of this, after Neville here's quite finished thrashing me.

"Oh. Battleship." Ja'far peered at what they were doing.

"E4." Neville said.

"Ouch. Hit." Erica said.

Neville looked pleased, as they both put markers in their grids.

"I think I've got you again, Erica." Neville said. "I'm pretty sure I have the location of all your ships now, and I've just got to sink them."

"A number of other compartments have games of chess going, or strange games involving cards which seem to randomly explode." Ja'far said, hesitating in the doorway. "This is the first one I've seen with Battleship in."

"Chess – or 'wizard chess' as it's called in the magical world – and exploding snap are both popular games in magical families." Neville said, having exchanged several more calls with Erica. "There's another game called 'gobstones', but it's not really suited to a train compartment on the Express."

"Well, you all seem pretty friendly." Ja'far shrugged and came in.

* * *

><p>After Neville polished off Erica (losing only a submarine and a cruiser in the process) there was another round of introductions accompanied by wand-flourishing. Ja'far had a wand of yellowish wood, which he proudly announced was 'satinwood with a core of rukh feather'. He said he had purchased it at the shop of a famous Baghdad wandmaker. Erica was persuaded to briefly exhibit her own wand – a long, slender, black one she said was 'ebony and phoenix feather'. Ja'far admired Neville's owl and made polite remarks, commenting that next term he'd have to see about getting one, perhaps. Then they got down to the business of resuming team-games of Battleship, since with Hermione sitting out but Ja'far joining in they could make teams of two again. Ja'far turned out to be a reasonably good judge of character, although he got in arguments with Neville a couple of times when they were on the same team, and Sophie considered him hopeless when it came to not giving away any information with his facial expressions.<p>

The Express headed further north.

* * *

><p>Ja'far excused himself when a prefect came along the corridor and announced the impending arrival of the Express at Carstairs, saying something about someone he had arranged to meet there. Erica disappeared too, heading up front to the baggage vans once again.<p>

Sophie figured that Battleship had just about had it for the day, and started to clear up. Meanwhile Neville sighed and stared out of the window, occasionally reaching up to pet his owl through the bars of the cage.

"Is it just me, or does the weather seem to have become greyer ever since we crossed into Scotland?" Neville asked.

"It's certainly much cloudier, and the sun's disappeared." Sophie glanced at the window.

"You know it's ridiculously British to talk about the weather." Hermione commented. "Especially when there's not much point to it."

"Oh, but there _is_." Neville said. "At the Hogsmeade end it's still a mile or two by road from the station to the castle, and if it's wet, it'll probably be muddy too."

"I thought everyone rode to the castle in carriages." Hermione said. "That's what _Hogwarts, a History_ says has been happening since late fifteen hundred and something."

"Not first-years and other pupils arriving for their first term." Neville shook his head. "Everyone else has to get to the castle ahead of us, and to get into place for the sorting. Gran wouldn't tell me how pupils are sorted, but she _did_ tell me that when she first went to Hogwarts, her year had to _walk_ to the school, or rather slither, because there'd been a freak early autumn snowstorm. It took them several hours, dragging their trunks, and three pupils got frostbite and one nearly died. I _hope_ she was at least partially pulling my leg, but I researched in some of the issues of the _Daily Prophet_ from September that year, and there _was_ a freak snowstorm in the Hogsmeade area the day of the Express. It was blamed on two battling Arabian wizards at the time."

A fine drizzle was falling by the time that the Express pulled into a temporary halt specially built for the Express just short of the junction and main station at Carstairs. The main station didn't have enough platforms for one to be taken out of service for most of the day and warded so that the Express and those interacting with it would go unnoticed by those without magic.

* * *

><p>Having finished with the last stop before Hogsmeade, the Express resumed its progress northwards, and the weather continued to get wetter. The drizzle turned into rain, and the clouds thickened. Erica returned and sank with an exhausted sigh back into her seat. The incandescent bulbs in compartments along the train, so far only switched on for transit through tunnels, flickered into life. There was a renewed hunt up and down the train for 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. Some people had evidently concluded that she might have left it until Carstairs to get on the train and that she <em>must<em> be on it now. Others were probably bored out of their minds after an hours-long trip. Rather annoyingly several of these hunters ignored the notice on the door. One older student seemed to think that because nobody had admitted to being the 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' anywhere else and that he had looked everywhere else, she must be in this compartment, and would admit to it, despite the notice. He left disappointed. His name had been something like 'Lucien Bowl' and apparently he was a Gryffindor, and one at the rather dim end of the scale.

The Express ploughed on through the Scottish glens, through now driving rain, and the clouds drew downwards, until the train was surrounded by swirling white mist. It slowed somewhat, as the visibility decreased – presumably as a safety requirement, given reduced visibility of the lineside signals.

Erica produced a pocket watch of her own and glanced at it occasionally.

"We're running late." she said. "I hope the house-elves have sent a message ahead. If not, someone will be in contact from the castle wondering where we are." She seemed about to add some further comment, when a knock came at the compartment door, and Percy Weasley looked in.

"Ah, I've found you Erica." he said, sounding relieved. "The house-elves are proving recalcitrant, and we need to check the pupils' luggage in case anyone has a goblin-forged silver weapon in their trunk. A small crisis has come up, and Professor Singh is hoping to deal with it _before_ we get to Hogsmeade, but he wants a blade of goblin-forged silver on hand if he does try to do such a thing."

"The house elves aren't going to like the idea of anyone going through pupils' trunks without the permission of the owners." Erica said. "They wouldn't even like to do it themselves, let alone permit anyone else to go rummaging."

"You're telling me." Percy sighed. "They refuse to believe that either the head-girl or boy has authority to do so, and they say Professor Singh doesn't either. They want written orders from the headmaster, the deputy, or the caretaker. Maybe, being the caretaker's daughter, I thought that you might be able to talk to them, though."

"Excuse me please, how big a 'blade'?" Sophie asked.

"Professor Singh ideally wants a spear, or a very large sword, but at this point he'll settle for even an ornamental letter-knife." Percy said.

Sophie sighed.

"I happen to have a goblin-forged silver potions knife in my hand-luggage." she said. She had several, but she wasn't going to admit to more than one unless absolutely necessary. After all, the professor might try to borrow or confiscate on an at least temporary basis anything he saw once this was done… "I'd be happy to come along and see what the professor wants it for."

Percy looked more relieved than anything else right now, at the prospect of avoiding a confrontation with the house-elves.

* * *

><p>There was a small crowd gathered in the corridor outside a compartment a couple of carriages up the train, as Percy, with Sophie (with her bag) and Erica tagging along behind him, came along. These 'spectators' looked a mixture of highly nervous and interested. They were being careful to give the door to the compartment a wide berth.<p>

"Prefect coming through, prefect coming through." Percy said.

A gap opened in the onlookers.

Inside the compartment was the defence professor Sophie had seen earlier in the restaurant car, the head-boy, a Ravenclaw prefect, and an oriental looking pupil wrapped up in a mass of ropes, against which she was straining in silence, whilst levitating horizontally in mid-air.

Professor Singh had his wand out, and was watching the floating girl very carefully, even when Percy came in, he didn't entirely take his attention away from her.

"I found Erica, professor, but her friend, Sophie Theresa, here, has a potions knife in her hand-luggage she says is goblin-forged silver."

"Really?" the defence professor asked, sounding slightly surprised.

"She says so." Percy shrugged.

"What exactly is happening?" Erica asked. "Erica Snape, Mr. Snape's eldest daughter." she added by way of introduction of herself.

"Cho Chang: second year student, possessed." the defence professor said in clipped tones, indicating the levitating girl, whom he continued to keep at least one eye on, as he spoke. "A first year, Miss Takahashi, who's the daughter of last year's defence professor, was talking to her and recognised the signs. She alerted a prefect, who in turn alerted me. I concur with Miss Takahashi's diagnosis. A 'doombringer spirit', of a kind colloquially known, here in Europe, as a 'Trevor'. Oriental usually in origins. Sometimes one happens on someone heading for a scene of a great catastrophe and sometimes one is 'encouraged' into a victim by a dark wizard aiming to cause havoc. Assuming the Hogwarts wards are effective against spirits from outside European traditions, Miss Chang probably wouldn't have got inside the castle anyway, inhabited by it, but best to deal with it now."

"Quite." said Erica. "And you need goblin-forged silver for what?"

"To dispatch the spirit, once I have removed it from Miss Chang." the defence professor replied.

* * *

><p>Since there seemed to be some sort of genuine trouble going on, where it might be legitimately useful, Sophie extracted one of her knives from her bag and passed it to the defence professor. He extracted it from its sheath, inspected the edges, and raised an eyebrow, but forbore from comment, instead tapping it with his wand. The knife briefly glowed with blue-silver light, and he nodded approvingly.<p>

"High quality goblin-forged silver, indeed." he remarked. He flicked his wand over the knife (his wand looked like it might be polished walnut wood, Sophie thought) and it proceeded to hover in mid-air alongside him. Then he busied himself with the floating girl.

The defence professor scribbled a few symbols on Cho Chang's face with a piece of charcoal, then pointed his wand at her, chanting something. The floating girl strained increasingly hard against her bonds (Sophie didn't know why she didn't just wriggle out of them, instead of trying to break them as she looked more _wrapped_ up than seriously tied up) then her face contorted horribly, and her mouth gaped open, and something which looked like a _toad_ crawled out of Cho Chang's mouth. It croaked malevolently, and regarded the defence professor with a baleful gaze. Then, it hopped off Cho Chang's face, down onto the floor, and the defence professor flicked his wand at the knife he'd borrowed and it flashed through the air to impale the toad. There was a flash and a puff of silver smoke, and an ominous sizzling sound, and then there was no toad.

The defence professor waved his wand and chanted something, and surveyed the compartment.

"It's gone." he said. He flicked his wand at Cho, and she sank down to the floor. She'd stopped struggling. Another flick, and the ropes vanished and she got uncertainly to her feet. Then she swayed, and collapsed sideways, onto a seat. She looked absolutely exhausted.

"I think I'll keep your knife for now, Miss Theresa, if you don't mind." the defence professor said. "Hopefully, that's the _only_ one of those things on the train, but most of my luggage went on ahead to Hogwarts, and it's best to be equipped just in case."

"If you could return it to my head of whichever house I end up sorted into then, please?" Sophie requested.

"I would think I can manage that, Miss Theresa." the defence professor said.

* * *

><p>"My father is <em>not<em> going to be happy about this." Erica said to Sophie on the way back to their compartment. "If Professor Singh knows his stuff – and defence teachers are generally pretty competent, these days – that _toad_ thing was either heading for Hogwarts because there is going to be a catastrophe there, or because someone thought it would be clever to put one in a twelve year old girl heading to the school. Dad will have to get in touch with last year's defence teacher, to see if she can shed any light on the topic."

"It's the responsibility of your father to supervise things like threats from malevolent spirits and possible impending catastrophes?" Sophie asked. She tried to think of a way to ask the next bit as neutrally as possible. "Is that usual for the caretaker of a magical school?"

"Uncle Albus' mind is frequently on 'higher things' such as his extensive sock collection or Wizengamot or ICW politics." Erica said. "Professor McGonagall, the deputy, is a head of house and a full-time teacher. They're both happy to have delegated that sort of thing to dad, except when something involves one of their own private schemes." She paused. "I don't know what happens in other schools, but Hogwarts is and has been practically forever a castle. At the moment it might be more accurate to say my father is a _castellan_ than a caretaker, although for lots of reasons it's convenient just to call him a caretaker."

If Sophie had come across the word 'castellan' before, it was not one that she was familiar with, and she was going to have to try and remember to look it up at some point, if Hogwarts had any normal dictionaries. Sophie, of course, had dictionaries of _magical_ terms in amongst her books, but had somehow managed to omit a normal one from her possessions.

If Hogwarts _didn't_ have a normal dictionary, and she remembered, maybe she could write to her grandfather to post one to her?

She mentally kicked herself. Irrespective of dictionaries, Erica apparently knew what the word meant, and she could just ask her.

"'Castellan'?" Sophie queried. "That's not a job I'm familiar with."

"Oh." said Erica. "Well I suppose you wouldn't be. It's someone sort of in charge of all the normal staff of a castle, and responsible for the military side of things, too, which includes things like making sure the defences are all good and able to do what they're supposed to do. Things like making sure there aren't any holes in either the physical protections like the battlements or the magical protections. In dad's particular case, he's also supposed to make sure that allies such as the local merpeople and the giant squid are protected from enemies – although there really aren't any potential threats to either except each other – and that _if_ we're currently on friendly terms with the centaurs that anything bothering them gets sorted out. Although usually the centaurs _aren't_ on friendly terms unless they _do_ have something which they want sorted out. There's a long history of mistrust between witches and wizards and centaurs."

* * *

><p>Sophie and Erica returned to their compartment to give an account of what had just happened to a fascinated Neville, who asked questions seeking clarifications on a couple of points. Hermione feigned to ignore the conversation, although the occasional glance over the top of the book suggested that she might initially be listening in. She lost interest as Neville went off into some discussion about werewolves with Erica. It was a highly technical discussion, which Sophie had trouble keeping up with, and she sank back into her seat and closed her eyes for a bit, as the train carried on, winding its way through the glens.<p>

Sophie must have actually dozed off for a bit, as she suddenly found herself coming to her senses as the train applied its brakes and came to a halt and she heard Neville ask: "Are we here, then?"

Sophie opened her eyes and glanced out of the window but couldn't see anything but the mist and driving rain and a few shrubs.

"Not yet. We've stopped at Glenhead signal-box to be switched to the Hogsmeade Branch." Erica shook her head. "The box is manned by squibs since it and the branch have muggle-repelling charms on them. Unless there are wild hippogriffs on the line or something, though, we're not more than half an hour out now."

After a few minutes, the train jerked and set off again. The carriage wheels clacked as the train passed over the points, and Sophie glimpsed an old-fashioned signal-box for a moment out of the windows on the corridor side of the train, built of wood, with huge windows, and old-fashioned levers and a couple of men hunched by them.

Then it was swallowed up by the mist, and the train heading along a narrow valley, before it plunged into a tunnel. There was a long drawn out whoooosh of the rush through the tunnel, and then the train was winding through more mist and rain, until maybe a quarter of an hour later, it began to slow again.

"We've just passed the distant signal for Hogsmeade." Erica said. "The prefects will be along any moment to announce the final approach, and to say to clear up any games and so forth."

"What happens to anything left on the train?" Hermione asked.

"If it's labelled luggage it _ought_ to make it to the castle." Erica said thoughtfully. "Anything else becomes the property of the goblins – with the exception of living creatures, wands, or designated family heirlooms."

There came a rap at the door, and one of the upper year boys with a Hufflepuff prefect badge stood there.

"We're now approaching Hogsmeade. Pupils are reminded that any personal possessions left on the train excluding labelled luggage may be claimed by the goblins. All labelled luggage will be forwarded to the castle, starting with the trunks and other items in the baggage vans."

"Good evening Lionel. I've already told them that." Erica said. "Well apart from the baggage van bit."

"Oh, good evening Erica. Didn't notice you there. Wasn't expecting to see you. Well can't stop to chat. More pupils to remind." The prefect let the door slide shut and moved on.

Several minutes later, the outline of buildings and lights began to be glimpsed through the fog, and then the gates of a level crossing as the line crossed a rough track. Finally, with a clatter and click over points the train pulled into a station, and came to a halt. A large wooden canopy extended out across the adjacent platform, keeping the platform mostly dry, and metal signs fixed to the stone walls here and there bore the legend in raised block letters of 'HOGSMEADE'.

Sophie had by now got her book back from a reluctant Hermione, taken the notice down from the compartment door (after all it was considerate to the goblins who owned the train to tidy that up) cleared anything else she owned away into her bag and retrieved from her bag a small, folding, umbrella.

She glanced around at the others, then headed out.

* * *

><p>Author Notes: (updated 28th August 2012)<p>

That ended up as a big chapter, but it didn't feel quite in character though for Sophie to have an Express ride where she swapped a few pleasantries with her companions and then spent several largely uninterrupted hours eating sweets and talking about quidditch…

As a reminder, _this is an alternate universe_, and as will be apparent by now to those familiar with canon, some of the characters around are somewhat different from their canon counterparts. They've had different experiences (and upbringings in some cases) and are in many respects different people. I hope that at least some of them come across as interesting (even if they're not viewed by the reader in perhaps the same way as the originals might have been).

A big thank-you to the fanfiction member, duj, is merited at this point for continuing discussions behind the scenes about the minutiae of Harry Potter canon, including such things as when particular spells seem to come up in the canon Hogwarts curriculum.

The mention Sophie makes to Neville on the platform at Carlisle about her great-grandfather killing a professor who invented a horrible weapon, but being subsequently pardoned, is a reference to events in Leslie Charteris' Saint books _The Last Hero_ and _The Avenging Saint_.

Trying to estimate travel times for a steam locomotive (albeit one with some goblin improvements) proved tricky. Even assuming once it gets up speed that it can manage a consistent 90 mph with a train the length of the Hogwarts Express on a friendly gradient with minimal signal checks I reckoned it was going to be about one o' clock when it arrived at Crewe. I know 90mph isn't anything approaching the top speed some steam locomotives have achieved, but I went with the BR standard class 9F in the first place because I reckon that the Hogwarts express is a long, _heavy_, train by passenger train standards and the 9F class (one of the last built for British railways) was designed to pull heavy loads over a long distance.

As regards lighting in the Express, it seems to me that the basic principle that metal wire with electricity passing through it will get hot and glow would be unlikely to be affected by whatever it is which nobbles calculators and the like, so incandescent light bulbs should work just fine. I am more doubtful over whether under-carriage dynamos would work, however, and so electrical power on the Express to run the lights is derived from voltaic piles/alchemical cells mounted under the carriages. Since this is essentially stored energy, which is difficult to replenish whilst the Express is running, the lights are used sparingly – basically for tunnels and in poor weather.

If there is one member of the Hogwarts staff (other than house-elves and any resident ghosts) who would live at Hogwarts all year round – and be entitled to have their immediate family also live 'on site' at the school – it would seem to me to be the school caretaker; especially since (as indicated in this chapter and the supplementary piece '_Gearing Up_') in this alternate universe the position has oversight of the castle house-elves attached to it. (As Erica mentions, the headmaster and his deputy found that handing off Hogwarts house-elf oversight to a more-then-competent caretaker freed up time for themselves, and for a number of reasons the school caretaker was the only person ever in the running to have this responsibility passed to him or her.)

Whilst I'm not sure that the position of caretaker would offer automatic entitlement to special treatment with regard to school-fees for children, and so forth, given that the current caretaker (Severus Snape) and his family live in the castle and are on speaking terms with all the teaching staff, Severus and Lily don't see any need to formally submit their children for a Hogwarts education – especially not when one of the main things which it entails (being a part of the house system) is something of which they have less-than-fond memories due to the difficulties it caused _them_ in their relationship during their Hogwarts days. Whilst there are some things (teachers setting and marking formal essays and being officially part of school clubs or teams) that the Snape children do miss out on by being 'home-schooled', given that most of the teachers happen to be (at least in the informal, non-relative, sense) an 'aunt' or 'uncle', who can be buttonholed for one-on-one tuition sessions in spare fifteen minute bursts during weekends, there probably isn't much when it comes to practical application that they miss.

As regards any difference between prefect and head-girl/head-boy badges from canon, this is one of those alternate universe things.

Although James Bond films (not that I own any rights to them) are part of the real world, to the best of my knowledge, as of the time of my writing this, there has not been a 'Full-Moon' film franchise in the real world and '_Full-Moon Three: The Claws of Dracula_' is something I invented for Neville to mention with a name that sounded as if it might involve werewolves. (Also quite possibly vampires, too…)

'_Vermillious_' is not a spell specifically mentioned by name/incantation in the original books, but was featured in the base set of the Harry Potter Trading Card Game (printed by Wizards of the Coast), and apparently shoots red sparks into the air from a wand. A similar spell, '_verdillious_', which apparently shoots green sparks, featured in the Diagon Alley expansion of that game.

Regarding Ron Weasley and his frame of mind, shortly after boarding the Express, he loses his pet rat, Scabbers, and duly sets out to look for him. When he enters the compartment with Sophie and the others, he is actually _intending_ to ask if they've seen his rat, but then he sees Neville Longbottom, and reason goes out of the window, since Frank and Alice Longbottom killed Ron's uncle, Gideon Prewett, when they turned into werewolves that night in November 1981. Ron is particularly sensitive on this issue since Gideon Prewett's brother, Fabian, is still around, carrying his own grudge against the Longbottoms, and Ron just happens to be his favourite nephew (and when you're as far down the family pecking order as Ron is, you welcome all the attention and being told dramatic stories that you can get)…

Anyway, a short while after his initial encounter with Sophie and company, Ron heads back to his own compartment in distress (as Scabbers is still missing) and to brood over having seen Neville Longbottom, and then people start knocking on his door, asking him if he's a girl in disguise, and his brothers Fred and George are laughing at him because they think that's hilarious, and then Draco Malfoy turns up, and Ron simply loses it. He's been having a _bad_ day and it just got so much worse (and possibly he knows his mother tried to sabotage Draco's arrival on the train – see '_Weasley, not Black_' – yet here Draco is anyway). The sight of Draco Malfoy is the straw which breaks the metaphorical camel's back, and Ron basically goes berserk, trying to flatten him, seeing him as a personification of an unfair world which is clearly Out To Get Ron. He's still not in his right mind when his brother, Percy, the Big Prefect shows up, with Sophie and Erica – to Ron's (currently unbalanced) mind, this is obviously all an evil plot by Neville Longbottom, who has sent these girls who are his minions along to use even one of Ron's own brothers against him. At least that's what seems logical to Ron in that particular moment, and so he makes a grab for the nearest wand…

The spirit possessing Cho Chang being known (to European witches and wizards) as a 'Trevor', is an artistic liberty on my part and a slight hat-tip to a pet toad named 'Trevor' who wanders around the Express in canon; if pushed to supply a reason why European witches and wizards of the Saint Potter alternate universe refer to spirits of this type as a 'Trevor', based on a couple of online dictionaries I'd be inclined to attempt an explanation working in the first witches and wizards from Europe to make written accounts of these spirits which bring darkness, despair and general ruin being Portuguese, and 'treva' (according to my online sources) being a Portuguese word which can mean 'darkness'…

No mass changing of pupils into school uniform occurs on board the Express in the Saint Potter universe. I'm not clear on how in canon - in an area the dimensions of a railway carriage compartment - anyone could manage to open just _one_ full-size trunk without a good deal of inconvenience, let alone how several could be open and rummaged through whilst said compartment is occupied by multiple pupils. I considered the possibilities of changing booths on station platforms along the way, or a specialised carriage on board the Express adjacent to the baggage vans with changing facilities, but for various organizational reasons these seemed unlikely to work (there are multiple stations and several hundred schoolchildren involved), so basically everyone except the prefects and head-boy and head-girl (who are already in uniform before the Express arrives at St. Pancras) arrives at Hogsmeade wearing whatever they got on board the Express in.

Whilst most reviews are appreciated, I prefer 'signed in' ones from account-holders if there are questions involved, since I have the option of immediate recourse to Private Message if the intention of such a question is unclear to me. I suspect that one reviewer inadvertently asked a question about something pertaining to a witch called 'Selene' in a fanfiction that they've read – as opposed to in canon or in this particular alternate universe – but I have no means of clarifying since it was a 'guest' review. To that particular query, all I can do is make a guess at the intention of the question and respond that in canon Luna Lovegood's mother is not actually named (as of the time of writing of these author notes); for the purposes of this alternate universe, Luna Lovegood's mother has been assigned the name Artemis Lovegood.

Revision (22nd May, 2014):

Having done some work on background material, since first posting this chapter, I can now add that in the 'Saint Potter' universe Hogwarts is placed at a point in the glen that Loch Ericht occupies in the real world (Loch Ericht does not exist in the Saint Potter universe, most of the Loch's area being occupied by part of the Forbidden Forest); regarding railway lines, the Hogsmeade Branch splits off the mainline just south of Dalwhinnie.

Also, due to development of the background material, the original mention in this chapter of Erica having been rescued from the Whomping Willow by Eleanor has instead been replaced with an encounter with an 'ambush date palm' in one of the Hogwarts glasshouses. 'Ambush date palms' are to the best of my knowledge at the time of writing, not a part of canon, but I find it logical that other climate zones ought to have dangerous magical plants of their own.


	8. Welcome to Hogwarts

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint. I am not Sir. W. S. Gilbert nor Sir A. S. Sullivan. I do not own 'The Pirates of Penzance'.

(Update Note, 8th January, 2013): This chapter has finally(!) been revised to include two further lines to fill out the Sorting Hat's song. Besides this revision, odd turns of phrase have been revised here and there for what I felt to be better flow of reading, and occasional additional description of pupils has been added to this and previous chapters. Interaction at the Slytherin table in this chapter during the latter stages of the sorting has been slightly filled out too. The Author Notes for this chapter have been amended and expanded on slightly, and (given the confusion some readers have been apparently experiencing) I have appended a few details regarding Sophie's relatives (particularly on her mother's side) to the Author Notes of 'A Knock at the Door', not least to try and clarify the great-grandfather/grandfather issue.

(Revision Note, 28th May, 2014): Owing to the development of background material, since this chapter was first posted, alongside various spelling/grammar/punctuation correction several sections of this chapter have been reworked. Theodore Nott is now cast as a less confident character, and the area occupied by dangerous vegetation (and other things not mentioned by the headmaster) has been relocated to 'the old defence suite in the Empire Wing of the castle'.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had a couple of sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans).

Further Note: This is an alternate universe which started to diverge from Harry Potter canon in the first half of the twentieth century, when Simon Templar was prominently at large in the wider world, and any characters with Harry Potter canon counterparts may have personalities and take actions at variance with what they would be and do in canon.

Further Further Note: The (for now) complete 'Gearing Up' contains material which supports this chapter to some extent, covering some of the things which have been going on at Hogwarts. 'Sorting Miss Potter' is a very brief snippet of the Sorting Hat's perspective of the few moments between Sophie's name being called and it starting to get going on sorting her. A piece called 'Where the Snow Lay' has commenced, touching on some of the moments of Severus Snape's early years and time as a pupil at Hogwarts in this alternate universe.

* * *

><p><em>In which there is a trip across a lake by boat, Sophie is sorted into a house by a relic of the founders, and at least one first year sensationally becomes an object lesson in why it's a BAD idea to disregard the minutiae of the Sorting Hat's song<em>

Doing her best to manage her bag, her (as yet folded) umbrella, and to keep a hand relatively free in case she needed her wand, Sophie emerged from the train onto the scarcely organised chaos of the platform of Hogsmeade station. Under the harsh light of the station's imitation gas-lamps (Sophie was reasonably certain they were magic-powered imitations – she couldn't imagine how they'd get connected to mains gas or manufacture their own without violating the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy) most of the pupils were streaming for one of the platform exits, but some were clustering around discussing things and apparently waiting for the rush to ease off. The air was cool and damp, seasoned by an undercurrent of smoke from the locomotive. Some way along the platform, close to the front end of the train, a huge dark-haired figure of a man who was tall enough to stand out head and shoulders above the crowd was bellowing for all he was worth, at the top of his voice: "Firs' years over here! Firs' years over here!" He seemed vaguely familiar to Sophie, and after a couple of moments she realised that it was the man she'd seen with the pink umbrella on her birthday trip to Diagon Alley, who'd recognised her grandfather and said something to Mr. Snape about being on an errand for Dumbledore.

It was annoying that she couldn't remember his name, but he'd presumably introduce himself at some point.

At any rate, Sophie navigated her way through the swirling morass of pupils, pets, hand-luggage, and the occasional free-flying confused looking owl clutching a scroll in its claws, in the direction of the large man. He was wearing a black overcoat (with bulging pockets and what looked like several mole-traps and a dead ferret dangling on bits of string from straps) over a leathery brown shirt and trousers, and he was shod in muddy black boots. He had his pink umbrella with him again (currently furled), and was surrounded by a couple of dozen house-elves in Hogwarts pillow cases, each equipped with a (also currently furled) large rainbow-hued umbrella.

Somewhere behind her Sophie could hear Neville attempting to navigate the crowd, whilst trying not to get Nimrod (in his cage) jostled too much.

Also accompanying the huge man shouting for first years was a tall man in one of the grey auror's cloaks, who was surveying the platform intently. He also looked familiar, and when he next glanced down the platform in Sophie's direction (giving her a full-on view of his face) she instantly recognised Rufus Scrimgeour.

Gradually the chaos on the platform started to ease, as the other pupils headed out of the station into the darkness of the swirling mist and drizzle beyond, and the first years clustered at a 'safe' distance around the huge man, the elves accompanying him, and the auror. An expectant hush settled over them.

"Who are you, sir?" one dark-haired girl asked the huge man, when he was taking a pause between shouting for first years.

"Me? I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Hogwarts Grounds and Keys, and we have a special treat fer firs' years and other pupils arriving at Hogwarts fer the firs' time." Hagrid beamed. "But firs' we have ter make sure yeh're all here."

Hagrid. That was it, Sophie thought – what Mr. Snape and her grandfather had called him. A possible member of Dumbledore's secret organization, to which her own father may or may not have belonged. Arrived too late to do very much, that Hallowe'en night almost ten years ago. With the prompt of his name, Sophie could remember the _important_ things about him.

She would have to try _not_ to hold the whole arrived-too-late-to-make-much-difference against him. Hagrid had the look of someone who simply followed orders and would never show up anywhere (early _or_ late) without someone having told him to do so first.

The slam of doors and bustle was tailing off, the platform now almost clear apart from their group. Only a few stragglers of the pupils of older years were heading out now. Sophie glimpsed Erica poke her head out of the doors of one of the baggage vans, for a moment, and look up and down the platform for a moment, before popping back in. The elves who'd rode aboard the Express in the baggage vans were starting to bring trunks out, and to convey them across the platform into part of the station buildings, presumably for dispatch to Hogwarts.

"Ahem." Sophie's attention was drawn away from the elves by Hagrid coughing loudly to get attention. "I am Rubeus Hagrid – but yeh can all jus' call me Hagrid – and this here is senior auror Rufus Scrimgeour, who's jus' goin' ter do a quick headcount. Make sure we haven't lost anyone along the way, or locked in a train toilet as a joke."

They certainly hadn't lost the Romanov boy, Sophie noticed. There he was, flanked by a pair of aurors still, looking somewhat uncomfortable – although she thought that they might be different aurors to the ones she'd seen with him at St. Pancras. Maybe they'd done shifts on bodyguard duty on him. She was relieved, given how closely they were 'protecting' him, that she'd declined the opportunity of an auror escort on this occasion.

Scrimgeour flicked his wand and muttered something under his breath, and his eyes glowed for a moment. Then he turned to Hagrid.

"Forty-nine children. You're three short."

"Two short." said Hagrid. "We had a message through this morning that Pansy Parkinson's goin' ter Durmstrang."

"That information had not reached the auror office, but I assume you know what you're about." Scrimgeour said, too professional to show more than the most momentary trace of annoyance in his tone that this potentially important news had not got through. "We'll line everyone up, and I'll check their names and find out who's missing."

"Okay, everyone, line up against the wall. Auror Scrimgeour here will ask you each your name, so we can find out who's missing." Hagrid instructed.

The first years grumbled and shuffled. Ja'far looked somewhat embarrassed.

Scrimgeour produced a list from somewhere, and a quill dripping with ink – Sophie wondered if those quills were some sort of standard issue things in the magical world?

When Scrimgeour came to Ja'far, the boy announced himself as 'Suliman al Rashid', and flinched slightly when Scrimgeour responded with a businesslike courteous nod of 'your highness'. A murmur went along the line and people craned their necks to look at Suliman. Sophie couldn't blame him for not giving his real name or hinting at his royal status earlier when he'd stopped by their compartment on the train. Being a prince was probably almost as bad as being The-Girl-With-The-Silly-Hyphenated-Nicknames when it came to people wanting to pester you.

The next person in line after Suliman was a tall, dark-haired girl, with the darkest blue eyes Sophie had ever seen and dressed in robes of quality cloth. She had a snowy white owl in a birdcage. When she gave her name as 'Kara Black' there was a _definite_ stir along the line and more craning of necks to look at her.

Scrimgeour moved on, and a few places down the line came to Sophie.

"Sophie Theresa, sir." Sophie said to Scrimgeour, desperately hoping he'd let her leave it at that.

He did. A tick and he moved along.

Whilst he was moving along the line a sleepy looking pupil emerged, from the train. Hagrid moved quickly up to accost him and see his name was checked off. Apparently he was 'Wayne Hopkins'.

Scrimgeour reached the end of the line, and looked down his list.

"Pansy Parkinson aside, we're missing one 'Terry Boot'." Scrimgeour said to Hagrid.

"What about The-Girl-Who-Lived?" Hagrid looked worried. "I was listenin' and there's no Sophie Potter here."

"Special arrangements are in place for her. She will be present at the sorting when called for, I assure you." Scrimgeour replied. He looked at his lists. "Boot embarked at St. Pancras according to my information, so either he's still on the train somewhere, or you've lost him off the Express. I don't know what you want to do?"

"Yeh, yeh, yeh, and yeh, check the train." Hagrid instructed four of the elves. "I want any pupils still on it found and off it, double-quick."

The selected house-elves hurried off.

Several minutes later a somewhat embarrassed looking older boy and girl emerged from the train, blushing a furious crimson. Their clothing was in disarray and Sophie suspected that they'd been kissing – or something more. They hastily disappeared from the platform.

A minute or two after that, two of the house-elves emerged from the train, helping a dark-haired pupil who was about first-year size along between them. From the awkward way he was moving, he appeared to have been in a cramped position for some time.

"This is being Terry Boot." the house-elves said to Hagrid. "He is being found bundled up and stuffed onto a luggage rack under a clever camouflage charm."

"What happened ter yeh?" Hagrid asked Terry.

"There were a pair of redheaded twins, sir." the boy said, sounding miserable. "I was looking for The-Girl-Who-Lived, whom I'd heard was disguised as a redheaded boy called Ron Weasley, and the last thing I remember is asking them about it and what kind of dumb idea it was to make up a name like 'Ron Weasley' as part of a disguise?"

"Sounds like yeh ran afoul of Fred and George Weasley, third year Ravenclaws." Hagrid frowned. "I doubt they took too kindly ter yeh saying their brother had a dumb name."

Terry Boot shuddered.

"I hope I don't end up in the same house as them…"

"Right, well, now yeh're all here…" Hagrid began, raising his voice, but he was disturbed by the emergence from the train of the other two house-elves he'd sent to check.

"All is being clear, Master Hagrid." the two elves said. "Only the other elves and the Snape little mistress is being on the train now. Oh, and we is finding this rat, too."

One of them held up a grey-haired rather elderly looking rat.

"Scabbers!" Ron Weasley cried. "That's my rat! I'd know him anywhere!"

"Yeh should have kept a closer eye on him." Hagrid said. "Give the boy his rat back."

The house-elf with the rat obliged, and Ron started stroking and holding the rat close to himself, tears of joy running down his cheeks.

"Right, now; well I am Hagrid, Keeper of the Hogwarts Grounds and Keys," Hagrid tried again, and this time went uninterrupted, "as I had said to most of yeh, and I welcome yeh all to the station of Hogsmeade, which is an old village with a lot of history, and the place closest ter Hogwarts. Yeh would be able ter see the castle from here on a clear evenin', but the weather bein' what it is, that's a view yeh'll have ter wait fer another time ter see. Now, normally pupils are conveyed ter the castle by thestral-drawn carriages, but yeh get a special treat, as we're goin' ter ship yeh across the lake in boats. And don't worry if yeh go overboard, as the merfolk'll have yeh out in no time." Rufus Scrimgeour cleared his throat meaningfully, and Hagrid harrumphed. "Altho', _the modern_ thing is fer everyone ter call them 'merpeople', but I like the archaic word myself. Right. Are there any questions before we set off?"

"How are we to be sorted, sir?" a dark-haired girl asked.

"Ah, now _that's_ a surprise, and yeh'll find out at the castle, where the deputy headmistress is waitin' for yeh." Hagrid replied. "But don't worry, it's not very dangerous, and it's a long time since we had a fatality durin' a sorting, and that was due ter a couple of silly lads fightin' with one another whilst they were waitin' ter be sorted."

"Are you a teacher at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"No, I just look after the grounds and go after anything dangerous in the Forbidden Forest that's gettin' too close ter the castle." Hagrid said. "Technically I look after the keys too, except fer Mr. Snape and the headmaster's own sets."

"Who's Mr. Snape?" a black boy dressed in surprisingly fashionable looking dark velvet asked.

"He's the school caretaker, and it's best not ter cross him." Hagrid said. "He's in charge of the Hogwarts elves, ensures everythin' about the school an' outworks is kept in good repair, and helps ter make sure that pupils out after curfew without good reason or in areas of the castle they shouldn't be are caught and punished. He's a former Slytherin – and exceptionally cunning – and no matter what smart tricks yeh may figure yeh have, yeh'll likely not get the better of him. His wife, Lily, is a very nice lady, though, and she teaches history of magic. She was a Gryffindor, from the headmaster's own house. They have children who yeh may occasionally see about the castle, but none of them are pupils, since they're special cases."

There were a few more questions, mostly about houses, and in which Hagrid displayed a strong pro-Gryffindor bias.

Then at last the questions came to an end.

"Right, if yeh follow auror Scrimgeour, we'll head down to the lake. The house-elves with us have golfing umbrellas, and will spread out, so yeh can huddle around them fer cover on the way."

Sophie contemplated for a couple of moments, and put her own umbrella back away in her bag. The umbrellas the house elves had looked much bigger and sturdier, and as shelter had the additional advantage of leaving her with less to occupy her hands.

* * *

><p>They travelled in a procession out of the station, and then a hundred yards or so down a path that descended a steep cutting and wended its way through some pine trees, before arriving at the edge of a lake. The path was lit along the borders by yellow-glowing rocks, and a couple of dozen boats were waiting for them at the end of it, tied up along a couple of jetties. The boats were decorated and lit with brightly shining waxed paper lanterns. Out on the lake the mist seemed to swirl even thicker, and here the pervasive scent of dampness mixed with the cutting scent of pine-needles.<p>

"One house-elf and up ter three others ter a boat!" Hagrid called out from where he was bringing up the rear of the procession from the station. Sophie had little doubt he was keeping an eye open for stray pupils.

Sophie scrambled into an empty boat, and Neville followed her. Moments later a house-elf with an umbrella followed. They looked to see who would be next, and to Neville's considerable surprised, Rufus Scrimgeour joined them.

"Sir?" Neville said.

"My presence is necessary in Hogwarts on auror business." the auror said. He eyed Neville. "You're the Longbottom boy, aren't you?"

"Yes sir." Neville answered respectfully but warily.

"Shame about your parents. They were good aurors. I knew them, slightly. I was part of the search of their offices and home after 'it' happened, and we never turned up anything obviously incriminating linking them to either the Wolf Guard or the Death Eaters. We didn't turn up anything which would have convinced the public that they _weren't_ tied in though. Too many off-the-record meetings with 'sources' and unexplained payments they had to make. Dirty business, wars, the more so when you don't have any reliable spies or informants. Dumbledore thought he had one and look how that turned out…"

Hermione was standing on the jetty looking longingly at Sophie's boat, which now had the prescribed load in. She got into the next boat along, which had a couple of girls in that Sophie recognised from the train – Hannah and Susan, she thought their names were. They were the two she'd encountered just after she'd met with Erica, and the redhead was the niece of the head of the DMLE. Sophie hoped that Hermione's Diagon Alley encounter with the head of the DMLE didn't come up in conversation in that boat, otherwise some sort of unpleasantness could occur. A house-elf with an umbrella followed Hermione.

Sophie returned her attention to Neville, who was asking Scrimgeour some details about just whether after all this time it was possible to obtain copies of documents regarding auror activities the month prior to the night his parents turned into ravening werewolves? The auror responded it was unlikely that documents from that far back would exist still, unless they directly pertained to cases which had never been closed or which involved the conviction or taking of other punitive actions against a major player in the Death Eaters. Bartemius Crouch had been head of the DMLE back then, and subsequently Minister for Magic, and unless he felt he needed to be able to cover his back over an important case, most documents were destroyed once cases were closed, rotas became out of date, and wages had been paid – Crouch's reasoning being such paperwork occupied unnecessary space, and was a fire-hazard in both the literal and potential blackmail/scandal senses.

By now, everyone except Hagrid was in a boat, so Hagrid boarded an empty one and with surprising care for such a big man untied it, flourished his umbrella and opened it, shouting "FORWARD!", and his boat set off out onto the lake. An instant later the house-elf in each other occupied boat snapped his or her fingers, causing them to cast off by themselves and to turn and follow Hagrid's out onto the mist-shrouded waters of the lake.

* * *

><p>The journey out on the lake, in the little fleet of lantern-lit boats apparently propelled by house-elf magic, was an eerie one. There were nervous whispers and cries from pupils – especially once lights started to glow under the surface of the lake, and rising into view came a host of creatures with the upper bodies of powerfully built men and women, with green hair and greyish skin and with the tails of long silvery fish. They wore only a few scraps of some sort of skin-tight material to preserve their modesty, along with an occasional harness with items attached to it by straps and clips. They carried with them a mixture of long-spears and sticks with glowing lights on the end, and the surface of the lake started to vibrate and make odd humming sounds as they spread out all around the boats, escorting them as they moved forward. They were presumably the merpeople Hagrid had mentioned earlier.<p>

Glancing around, Sophie saw Hermione being lectured by a finger-wagging Susan Bones about something, Ron Weasley sitting in a boat with a black girl and a white girl who seemed to know one another, the Romanov boy sitting with his double-auror escort looking as if he were sincerely regretting the company – which had left him without _anyone_ his own age to talk to – and Draco talking to a boy who looked like he came from somewhere around the Mediterranean, whilst a blonde girl looked on. Neville's friend Ernie was in a boat with Stephen Cornfoot and a small quiet-looking brown-haired girl, and Tracey Davis along with Vincent and Gregory had unsurprisingly all piled into a boat with one another. Ja'far (or rather_ Suliman_, as he was apparently really called) had ended up in a boat with Kara Black and _two_ Hogwarts house-elves – Sophie suspected that was some sort of security precaution, like Rufus Scrimgeour 'just happening' to end up in the boat with her in.

"Careful there!" Hagrid bellowed at one boy who was leaning over the side of the boat he was in, trailing his fingers in the water. "Just 'cause they'll fish yeh out, doesn't mean yeh'll be handled too gently by the merfolk if yeh go in."

The boy grumbled something to his companions, and sat back slightly, although he still dangled one hand over the side.

Scrimgeour had his wand out, but loosely held, and was constantly surveying the scene, on the look-out for any kind of trouble – although given the mist swirling everywhere, now that the shore (and the scent of pine-needles) had receded there wasn't much of anything to see except the flotilla of boats and the merpeople in the lake swimming alongside.

"You know, there's supposed to be not just merpeople, but a giant squid in the lake too." Neville said.

"Yes, I'd heard that from several sources." Sophie responded. "My grandfather and I checked things like that very carefully. Unlike others." She couldn't resist a brief glance in the direction of the boat Hermione was in.

"To be honest, I don't think it's the sort of thing most muggle-borns and their families would think to find out." Neville said, slowly. "They're too busy oohing and aahing over the fact that magic is actually real and that little Joseph or Josephine is about to go off to an equally real school of magic. I've seen enough of them about in Diagon Alley during the summer months when I've been there with gran for shopping or on some other business. For that matter, I don't know that that many _magical_ families would know about stuff like that if there wasn't almost always some adult like my Uncle Algernon in every family with long boring stories about their own or some other relative's misadventures. I think that you and I are maybe exceptions, Sophie, with relatives not quite like normal folk. We've had stuff happen to us, to our families – or at least I know I have had to mine, and seeing how close you are to him, but that it was your _grandfather_ who brought you to St. Pancras this morning, I guess you've had too to yours. We're _careful_. We check ahead because we know bad things might happen if we don't…" Neville trailed off. "That's my theory, anyway. Tell me I'm completely wrong if none of it sounds right for you."

That at least _sounded_ a rather profound and deep piece of thinking coming from a fellow eleven year old, at this time of an evening, and under other circumstances Sophie might have liked to examine it in some depth. Right now, however, despite the nap on board the Express having helped refresh her to some extent, she wanted to save her energy, since there was an ever-nearing nit-inspection impending where she would (possibly) have to disclose her name and (almost certainly) the telltale scar, followed up by having to deal with a mind-reading hat in front of practically an entire school who would by that point almost certainly know who she was. Oh, and then she would have to cope with new classmates in a manner in keeping with whatever house she'd ended up in.

"That sounds like it deserves rather more discussion than a quick talk in a boat on sorting evening." Sophie said, diplomatically trying to find a way to get off the topic without making it sound like she was pooh-poohing Neville's idea. "And at any rate, just so long as the merpeople and the giant squid don't try and bother _us_ tonight."

"Oh." said Neville, and furrowed his brow, seemingly trying to work out if Sophie might mean anything other than what she had just said. After half a minute, he sighed, glanced at Scrimgeour (who was busy keeping vigil, still) and turned to the house-elf in their boat:

"Excuse me, please. What's it like being a Hogwarts elf?" Neville asked the elf.

"Wonderful! Mr. Snape is being the bestest master in all the world to work for! When Dumblydore made Mr. Snape master of the Hogwarts elves, was being cleverest thing Dumblydore is ever being doing, and Dumblydore is being very clever wizard! We has work and more work, and more work, but also breaks to rest, and even a party for us every summer, which is being called 'The House-Elf Ball', where the teachers thank us for all our hard-work and serve _us_ for the day. Is being embarrassing, but good that nice teachers show respect and thanks for hard working Hogwarts house-elves. Hogwarts is the bestest school in the whole world, and gets more and more important and so more and more witches and wizards notice and hear about it every year."

Neville looked surprised at this. _Sophie_ was surprised at this, although maybe it was something Mr. Snape had instituted as a result of some sort of obligation he felt he owed as a 'castellan'.

"The house-elves have a ball?" Neville frowned.

"Is being very old tradition." the house-elf explained. "Sometimes headmasters is allowing the tradition to go away, and other times they is reviving or changing it. The founders, is said, is having original idea of holding great feast once a year in honour of the castle elves. Some say is one of the last things they is truly agreeing upon. Great master Snape is going to headmaster Dumblydore half a dozen years ago, and is asking him about reviving it, in some form, and headmaster Dumblydore is saying yes! And so the next summer, we is having the first celebration of castle elves since the practice was stopped in headmaster Dumblydore's own youth."

Oh, so it was an institution Mr. Snape had revived rather than instituted, then, Sophie considered. Since the Hogwarts headmaster was over a hundred years old according to what information she'd read about him indicated, that still must have been seventy or eighty years at least during which no celebrations had happened, Sophie reckoned. She also noted this tradition was something she couldn't recall seeing mentioned in _H__ogwarts, a History_ and considered it likely indicative that the writers didn't think much of the castle house-elves.

"I'm pleased you think you have such a good master." Neville said. He looked at Sophie. "Some witches and wizards don't treat house-elves very well, and I can't think of many who'd throw a party for them." He made a face, seeming slightly embarrassed. "At home with gran, we just give ours an afternoon off to do what they want on gran's birthday, as she's effectively the head of the Longbottom family. It's sort of a long-standing tradition, but I suppose we could go further…"

"Ah! We is nearly home. I is feeling the castle wards." the house-elf said happily.

Maybe a minute or so later, something began to loom in the mist before them, and Hagrid's boat moved through the flotilla to the front. The shape resolved itself into a crag of glistening wet rock that plunged down into the water from some point unseen through the mist above, with an arched gateway set into it, and a tunnel with a canal in it carved through the rock behind. The tunnel was lit by flickering torches (mounted in rough iron staples driven into the walls at intervals) of a kind which looked similar to the ones Sophie had seen in Gringotts.

The gateway was blocked at the moment by a huge portcullis, and it was in front of this that the boats now came to a stop.

Hagrid folded his umbrella and used it to whack a huge brazen gong that hung in an alcove next to the arch.

A few moments later, as the deep resonant thrum of the gong rolled out across the lake, the water the other side of the crisscrossing bars of the portcullis rippled and surged as something _huge_ and scaly like the head of a great serpent rose dripping from it, sending out a modest sized wave that caused those boats nearest the gate to bob up and down wildly for several moments.

"I am the guardian of the gate. Who comes to Hogwarts?" it ponderously hissed.

The merpeople, Sophie noticed, had broken away from the boats, and were formed up now in a broad crescent behind them. They seemed reluctant to approach the tunnel mouth.

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Grounds and Keys." Hagrid announced. "I come with this year's first years, accompanied by some house-elves of the castle and some auror guards, ter present them fer the sorting."

A long forked tongue flickered out of the head of the creature behind the gate, tasting the air.

"Your words are true. I grant you entry to Hogwarts."

The creature plunged back down beneath the water, sending further waves out through the arch to again rock the closest boats, and moments later, with a clanking sound and rattling of chains, the portcullis started to _descend_ into the water, until at last the spiked top had sunk beneath the surface, leaving the archway clear.

"What was that, sir?" Neville asked the Scrimgeour. "The guardian?"

"Linnorm." the auror replied. "Said to be one of the oldest in Northern Europe, and to have seen the days of the last sea-raiders of Scandinavia."

Hagrid waved his umbrella, and the boats proceeded forward through the gate, over the now sunken portcullis, and down the tunnel beyond.

* * *

><p>After fifty yards, the merpeople escort having remained behind outside, the tunnel opened into a broad, low-roofed cavern, with numerous piers lining the far shore in which a stone built quay lit by more of the torches rose. A number of archways let onto the quay.<p>

The house-elves had folded their umbrellas now, and guided the boats to the piers. Hagrid was first ashore, going to shake by the hand a tall stern-faced woman dressed in tartan with a black academic gown over it, who was waiting on the quay. She had on her head a tall black steeple hat with a tartan band around it.

"Evening, Minerva." Hagrid said. "Sorry we're running a bit late, but we thought we'd lost a couple of first-years. One of 'em was still asleep on the train, bless 'im, and the other had had some sort of argument with the Weasley twins by the sound of it, and been stuffed onto a luggage rack."

The stern-faced woman frowned, and Hagrid turned to address the boats.

"Everyone ashore, and we'll count yeh again and make sure yeh're all still here. This is the fine witch and head of Gryffindor house, Minerva McGonagall, who is also the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. She's here ter take yeh ter be sorted."

Maybe it was partially due to Hermione's account of the way she'd been abandoned in Diagon Alley, but now that she had seen the Hogwarts deputy headmistress for the first time, Sophie decided that there was something about her that she did not quite _trust_.

Everyone piled ashore, and Scrimgeour twitched his wand and muttered again, and then turned to the deputy headmistress.

"Fifty one." he said. "If they're not the pupils you were expecting, something's gone wrong with your side of things, but the number's right."

"Most importantly, is The-Girl-Who-Lived and are our other special guests here?" the deputy headmistress asked. She spoke with a refined Scottish accent.

"Bunbury! Dawlish! Is the Romanov boy still present and accounted for?" Scrimgeour barked.

"Yes sir!" the two aurors flanking the boy in question smartly responded.

Scrimgeour looked around him, pointedly ignoring Sophie.

"I see pupils resembling Black, al Rashid, de Winter, and von Stauffenberg all present." Scrimgeour said to the deputy headmistress. "Also Potter. Even if she _hasn't_ got a unicorn or ridiculous thunderbolt wand. Good thing too on the unicorn front since that might have been tricky with the boats."

"I'm surprised at you making fun like this in front of our pupils." The deputy headmistress chided.

"And I'm surprised at _you_, making such a fuss over one or two in particular in front of _all_ your new pupils." Scrimgeour coldly replied. Sophie had to restrain an urge to cheer him on. "Now are you going to sort them or not, because if not, I'm going to have to start sending messages and getting some of them back to their homes, if you don't want responsibility for them?"

The deputy headmistress muttered something under her breath and shot Scrimgeour an unfriendly look, but then turned to address the first years.

"As Hagrid said, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, and deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. Unless a Professor gives you leave to do otherwise or there is an emergency occurring, you will please address all professors of the school as 'Sir', 'Ma'am', or by 'Professor whatever their name is' whilst on school grounds or excursions, during term-time. Now, you will shortly be sorted into one of four Hogwarts houses, depending upon your character…" and the deputy headmistress was off explaining the house system, the house prefects, the house-cup competition (with the hourglasses in the great hall which kept track of the scores) and various other things which Sophie had read about days or even weeks ago. Sophie paid attention, nonetheless, in the hope that there'd be some detail which she'd missed – or amusing anecdote to enliven proceedings – but was sadly disappointed.

Right now the deputy headmistress was coming across as a stickler for rules and an iron enforcer of discipline in Hogwarts. Sophie just hoped that she did so _fairly_, but unfortunately the tone of Professor McGonagall's opening remarks to Scrimgeour had already rather hinted that she probably had blind-spots, if not an inclination to outright play favourites…

The deputy headmistress wound to a conclusion about 'doing whatever house you end up in proud' and then formed everyone up into a crocodile, with herself at the front, Hagrid at the back, and the house-elves and Scrimgeour loosely arranged along the flanks. ('Bunbury' and 'Dawlish' remained either side of the Romanov boy, of course, though their charge was looking increasingly depressed by their constant company.)

"Follow me." the deputy headmistress instructed, and set off, leading them through one of the archways into a wide and high passage. As they went, the house-elves shouldered their umbrellas and adopted an almost military march, cheerfully whistling some jaunty tune which sounded to Sophie like something from one of the old war films that occasionally turned up on television. The passage (which was of worked stone, and had a practically new look to it) ran for some hundred yards or so (illuminated by more of those torches) before arriving at an archway fitted with a metal gate that much resembled a small portcullis but was hinged like a door. On the other side the stonework looked much older, and Sophie guessed that this was actually the entrance, down here, to the castle proper. Through this gate they went, and beyond it there followed a succession of torchlit ascending staircases, passageways and rooms, decorated in various ways. There were a lot of tapestries and paintings on the walls, and Sophie could have sworn that in the paintings which had people in (most of who looked like witches or wizards), the inhabitants of the paintings actually turned their heads to watch the first years head past, or at least moved their eyes. The hallways smelt faintly of old mortar and dusty stone and cloth.

"Please Professor." one boy near the front of the procession gulped to the deputy headmistress as they went past a picture of a group of friars at some sort of feast. "The monks in that painting are looking at us."

"Of course they are." the deputy headmistress said, sparing the painting barely a glance. "They're probably interested to see you, since you're new around here."

Sophie was relieved that it hadn't been her imagination that the things were actually moving and looking at them, but exceedingly disturbed that the headmistress acted as if their occupants were intelligent and this was something relatively normal. There seemed to be a _lot_ of paintings on the walls of Hogwarts, which meant a lot of eyes watching things.

Although _Hogwarts, a History_ had failed to mention the paintings (perhaps they were things so commonplace in important places that the writers had considered they weren't worth mentioning) it _had_ mentioned the many suits of plate armour dotted around the castle, placed in corners or lurking in niches or alcoves – and why they almost always had some sort of sword, spear, or axe attached or close to hand. Apparently the most skilled teachers at Hogwarts could make these suits of armour walk around, or fight to defend the castle in a battle – not that the suits of armour could achieve much except act as temporary distractions in most battles involving other witches and wizards, but still they were considered useful enough to keep around in large numbers as part of the castle's defences. Some suits of armour (despite their inability to function independently) had even been given affectionate names at various points in history by inhabitants of the castle. One fashioned of dark steel which was traditionally parked on a third floor landing in Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower and equipped with a huge battleaxe was known as 'The Black King'. Another, stationed close to the pantries and equipped with a short-spear was called 'Helga's Squire'. Members of Hufflepuff, according to _Hogwarts, a History_ traditionally tucked a lady's handkerchief into the left gauntlet of the latter suit on the first day of each month during term-time.

* * *

><p>Presently they arrived in the biggest chamber yet which had several side-doors (besides the arch they had entered through), and a huge pair of wooden doors embossed with the Hogwarts crest across them in one wall. One of the side-doors had a plaque on it which read 'girls' bathroom' and another side-door one which read 'boys' bathroom'.<p>

There were several tables without anything on them arranged around the walls of this room, one table with what looked like several empty glass fish-tanks on it for some reason, a number of long low benches, and a large metal-and-fabric hospital screen shutting off the view of one corner – beside which latter furnishing a woman with greying hair and in an old-fashioned nurse's uniform stood. It was here that the house-elves peeled off and disappeared through one of the side-doors, whilst the rest of the group finally came to a halt.

"This is Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse." the deputy headmistress indicated the woman by the screen, once the door had banged shut behind the departing elves. "She will inspect you one at a time, behind the screen, for nits, and will deal with any head-lice that she finds."

"That's right." Madam Pomfrey spoke up. "I will also have a privacy spell up, and if you need to say anything about any medical problems you may have – or any other worries or concerns – before you go on to the sorting, you may speak to me in confidence." She had a slightly fussy but _firm_ air of a medical professional, even if she happened to be one with a wand rather than a stethoscope.

"If anyone needs the toilet, before the sorting, facilities are available tonight through those doors," Professor McGonagall waved a hand at the doors with plaques identifying them as bathrooms "although one of the quirks of the castle is that they are only available in this location on sorting nights – at other times of year you will find only blocked-up arches there. Since the welcoming feast takes place immediately after the sorting, and pupils' pets are not allowed at the feast, you will say goodbye for now to any owls or other animals you may have brought with you and leave them in this room. Hagrid will take good care of them during the sorting and feast and see that they are afterwards forwarded to your dormitories in whichever house you are sorted into, to join your trunks and any other items from the Express." (Hagrid beamed at everyone, presumably to try to reassure them that their owls and pets would be in good hands.) "You will also leave any hand luggage here – I will label it for you if necessary – and it will also be forwarded. I have information that at least one of you has been dared by an older pupil to smuggle something _quite_ unsuitable into the sorting, and – running late as we are – I don't have time to check all your luggage." She paused and frowned. "Now, if you would all line up please, to be inspected…"

* * *

><p>Sophie found the lining-up process instructive, not least since the deputy headmistress hadn't given any instructions as to how the line was to be formed. Several pupils immediately beset the deputy headmistress with hands raised, and respectful 'please ma'ams' on their lips to enquire what the procedure was?<p>

Meanwhile, Tracey Davis summoned her companions and made a distinct rush to stand as close as possible to the screened corner.

A number of pupils seemed panicked as if they had forgotten that a nit-inspection was a scheduled part of the procedure, and clumped around asking each other to urgently check their hair as if that was going to make any kind of difference to what was about to take place.

Ron Weasley furtively sidled as far away from the screened corner as possible, and thrust a hand into a slightly bulging, squirming, pocket, and mumbled something to himself. Apparently he was petting his rat, and he looked distinctly nervous right now for some reason.

A number of pupils were just standing around looking confused, or looking to see what others were doing.

Scrimgeour had his lips pursed and a _glint_ in his eyes, apparently making his own private and highly critical assessment of proceedings.

The Romanov boy seemed to be trying to argue the merits of the situation with his accompanying aurors who seemed to believe that they had to remain flanking him in the line to see the nurse.

"Come along, Sophie, we may as well get this over with as soon as possible." Neville said, and made to line-up immediately behind Tracey and her two friends. "Hi! Ernie!" he waved to get the attention of Ernie Macmillan.

Sophie shrugged and figured Neville had a point on the getting this over count. Ernie came over to join them.

"Just… Just get into line behind," Professor McGonagall said to the crowd surrounding her, "whomever that is at the front" she glanced at Tracey and her friends who looked unhappy at the lack of recognition, "and Mr. Longbottom and his friends." Tracey looked even less happy that the deputy headmistress apparently failed to recognise her, but had called out Neville. Tracey glowered at Neville for a moment, before Vincent tugged at her sleeve and muttered something about _everyone's heard of Longbottom_.

Gradually a semblance of a queue began to form up behind them, with occasional jostling for position. Meanwhile Neville was seeking an update from Ernie on how the latter part of _his_ Express ride had gone, and what developments, if any, there had been regarding the French girl, Genevieve? Ernie waved an arm and tried (but failed) to point her out amidst the chaos going on further back down the line. Stephen, Ernie reported, had remained much more reluctant than Antony to rush-in in an attempt to converse in a foreign language, but by hijacking the girl's dictionary, and with a good deal of thumbing through it, some sort of communication by written means (albeit painfully slow) was possible. Genevieve had apparently brought her own lunch with her onto the Express in some sort of magically expanded pockets – said lunch consisting of several baguette sandwiches – and had declined all offers the boys had made of snacks from the trolley that stopped by their compartment; but after lunch, Ernie, Stephen, and their companions had just about persuaded her to engage in exploding snap. She'd been surprisingly _good_ at it once she got going, despite the apparent problems with language and her general shyness. She'd won at least half the games, and she'd been up against what Ernie considered to be some (by eleven year old standards) veteran players.

Before Neville could reciprocate Ernie's news with a briefing of his own, Madam Pomfrey had dispatched with the last of the Tracey/Vincent/Gregory trio, and emerged from behind the screen to look for her next victim.

"I'll go." Sophie volunteered. "You two keep on catching up with one another."

Sophie tried not to look noticeably too discomforted by the imminent inspection in that obviously her scar and name were about to be fully disclosed. She just hoped that the nurse _was_ up to the level of discretion mentioned by the deputy headmistress.

* * *

><p>"Name?" the nurse enquired, when Sophie came behind the screen.<p>

Behind the screen sounds from the rest of the room were oddly muted, and whilst Sophie had been in the queue it had been impossible to hear anything of what had happened during the nurse's time with any of the three preceding pupils. The promised privacy spell seemed genuine.

There was a simple table present with a couple of chairs, and a closed chest underneath it. For want of anywhere else to put it, Sophie left her bag on the table.

"Sophie, ma'am." Sophie said, removing the baseball cap. "I've been trying not to have a fuss made. My surname is _Potter_."

The nurse blinked.

"We have all sorts of stories about you, dear. No inspection by magical professionals known since Candy Derwent in October 1981, and that one's a state secret. Hmmph. Well maybe now you're _here_ they'll have to make it available to me. Have you ever suffered from any unusual nightmares, headaches, or other mysterious ailments?"

"No, ma'am. Not that I'm aware."

"Another 'ma'am'er'. Minerva – that's the deputy headmistress – gave you all her big 'you will treat all professors with respect' speech, didn't she? Well I'm _not_ a professor, and in any case you may call me 'Nurse Pomfrey', dear."

"Yes 'Nurse Pomfrey Dear'." said Sophie, somehow keeping a completely straight face. It had been a long day, and now there was this period of waiting before they got onto the sorting.

"Oh, my, you _are_ a terror." the nurse said. "Your father might have said that to me, but he would have winked at me too. He had an outrageous wink, did James Potter."

That was unexpected and Sophie had to fight very hard to squish the impulse to react to it by doing something silly such as getting tearful. In theory she had _known_ that her father had gone to Hogwarts, and of course some of the staff must have been working here (or studying alongside him) when he was here. In practice, it was an entirely different thing to actually have it happen to her for the first time – to have some member of staff mention her father.

"Do I have nits, or may I go and ready myself for being sorted?" Sophie asked, not really wanting to deal with a conversation about her father here and now. There was a lump in her throat she was having to make a conscious effort to ignore. "There _are_ a lot of other children still waiting to be inspected after me."

The nurse waved her wand.

"No. You're absolutely free of nits and head-lice. Do drop by the infirmary – once you find it – if you ever have a medical problem, suspected or otherwise, Miss Potter."

With some relief Sophie retrieved her baseball cap, replaced it on her head, grabbed her bag and escaped. She found a spot on a conveniently empty bench and plonked herself down on it. She urgently needed to compose herself, given the highly public scrutiny she would soon be under.

By the time she was something approaching calm again Ernie was emerging from the screened-off corner.

"Neville said something about you catching the end of the epic fight on board the Express." Ernie said, after looking around, then sitting next to Sophie. "And about another pupil trying to jinx you? Would you like to give me your version of it?"

Sophie glanced around and noticed Ron Weasley was right at the back of the queue and well out of earshot.

Sophie drew a deep breath:

"Well, it came to my attention that there was a rumour going around the Express that the Girl-Who-Lived was disguised as a boy called Ron Weasley whom we'd met earlier and it seemed frankly ridiculous, but I had met a prefect back at St. Pancras who I knew was called Percy Weasley and I thought it might be a good idea to let him know…" she began.

She had no idea what mention Neville might have made of Hermione, but left her out of it for now, and she avoided the fact that _she_ was Sophie Theresa Potter and knew very well that she wasn't disguised as any Ron Weasley.

Several minutes later, Neville emerged from the corner, and joined Sophie and Ernie on the bench, a slightly worried expression on his face initially, but relief becoming apparent as he listened in.

"Cor." said Ernie at the end of Sophie's (suitably downplayed) account. "I wonder who started that rumour that set it all off?"

"Who knows?" Neville shrugged, doing his best to look completely clueless on the issue. "Someone who left the good sense they possess at home this morning, I'd have thought."

"Hmm. It _might_ have been Draco Malfoy." Ernie speculated. "I heard the Weasleys and Malfoys never got on with one another."

"Why would he have stopped by to say hello to Ron like that if he had started the rumour?" Sophie asked. It wasn't a particularly good attempt to divert attention away from Draco – who she didn't want blamed for something Hermione had done – but it was the best she could think of right now.

"Ernie." Neville sighed. "I have a pretty good idea where the rumour started, and I don't think it was with Draco Malfoy. I think it was someone who grew up outside the magical world and who didn't have a clue what he or she was doing, and who'd taken a dislike to Ron Weasley. And no, it wasn't Sophie, Ernie. She has _class_ and knows what she's about."

"You could just _tell_ me who you think it is, Nev." Ernie stared at him. Some sort of internal struggle seemed to be going on in Ernie though. "No, actually, that would make you a telltale. Forget I asked. Whoever it is, you're giving them the benefit of the famous Longbottom doubt."

"Thanks Ernie." Neville said.

"You've done it for me on enough occasions." Ernie shrugged. "So what now?"

"Well, we could always drop off Neville's owl and my bag." Sophie said. "I suppose pets and owls get left on the table Hagrid's standing by, but I'm not clear on where we park hand-luggage…"

* * *

><p>Having left Nimrod with Hagrid, (which latter admired the former, congratulating Neville on his 'fine, fine, bird') and sorted out where other bags were left, Neville, Sophie, and Ernie sat back down and watched everyone else filing one-by-one behind the screen to emerge an indeterminate length of time later from the other side.<p>

"Looks like Lavender had nits." Ernie sniggered as one girl emerged with an absolutely mortified expression on her face and running her hands through her long brownish-blonde hair. "How the stuck-up are fallen."

Another girl who'd also been already seen went across to commiserate, and Lavender's wail in response could clearly be heard:

"It must have been that absolutely filthy train compartment!"

Everyone who _hadn't_ already noticed, of course had their attention immediately drawn by this incautiously loud lamentation, and Lavender flushed bright red, before drawing herself up as tall as possible and saying out loud with an air of offended dignity: "Well it must have been!" before drawing her companion off into a corner for quieter further discussion.

At one point one of the smaller side-doors opened and a house-elf emerged, who handed a note of some sort to the deputy headmistress – who read it, frowned, and then looked around purposefully.

"Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley?" the deputy headmistress spoke, before fixing upon him, as he tremulously started to raise his hand.

She headed in his direction, flicking her wand as she did so to produce a spell that meant the conversation which followed between the deputy-headmistress and Ron could not be overheard. From the increasingly depressed look which developed on Ron's face, however, it was apparent that it was not good news for him.

* * *

><p>More time passed. The queue of pupils remaining to be checked steadily diminished. It finally became apparent what the glass tanks in the room were for when the first pet toad of the evening was decanted into one. From one of his pockets Hagrid produced several handfuls of gravel and a flask of water which, with a deft touch, he employed to furnish the tank for its new temporary occupant.<p>

Hermione emerged from behind the screened off area, looking subdued. Sophie had been surprised Hermione hadn't tried to catch up with Sophie and Neville after the ride in the boats, and could only imagine that something which had happened in Hermione's boat was the cause. Hermione headed into a corner and slumped there, closing her eyes.

One of the smaller doors into the room opened again to this time admit a tall, dark-haired, thunderbolt of a wizard.

With snappy black robes, a billowing cloak, and a hint of a scowl on his lips, it took Sophie several moments to register that this was Mr. Snape – albeit looking very different to when her grandfather and she had encountered him on her birthday.

Okay, Stephen Cornfoot's reaction to Erica was starting to make more sense to Sophie if this was the Mr. Snape some people saw.

For some reason Mr. Snape was holding a jam-jar aloft in one hand, containing what appeared to be a green beetle with unusual markings.

Mr. Snape made purposefully for Rufus Scrimgeour who had until now been keeping a general eye upon proceedings and the pair exchanged words. Then the jam-jar changed hands and Scrimgeour held it up to his face and a smile crossed his lips.

Sophie _knew_ that smile. It was the smile of an officer of the law who believes that he or she has someone caught in the act of doing something hideously illegal, bang to rights.

Scrimgeour drew his wand and flicked it at the jar and its contents, and his smile broadened.

More words were exchanged, and then Mr. Snape withdrew, leaving the auror in possession of the jar, which he dropped into a pocket.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Ernie asked, who along with Neville had noticed Sophie's interest in the exchange. "That was Snape, the caretaker, talking to the auror bloke from the station, wasn't it?

"Rufus Scrimgeour." Neville said. "He was in the boat with Sophie and me and said something about an errand which took him all the way to Hogwarts. I _had_ thought that meant he had been assigned to supervise security on the last leg with all the important first years around but I wonder now…"

"It was a beetle in a jar Mr. Snape handed over." Ernie said. "I can't imagine there'd be anything about a beetle in a jar worth an auror's time, or not unless it was a witch or wizard in disguise. Maybe a former Death Eater out for revenge on The-Girl-Who-Lived." Ernie looked thoughtful. "Although, actually, I don't think a witch or wizard _could_ turn themself into a beetle unless they were an animagus."

"Isn't it illegal for a witch or wizard to use an animagus shape in Britain unless they've registered it with the authorities?" Sophie said slowly. "Ever since the twelfth century it's been regarded as a very serious offence, and use of an unregistered shape can be treated as evidence of intent to commit acts of espionage or murder."

Use of an unregistered animagus shape was sufficiently highly rated a crime on the Ministry list that Sophie and her grandfather had spent some time checking what it involved. Apparently back in the medieval period, there'd been a notorious family of spies and assassins operating in Venice who had the animagus' ability to wandlessly turn themselves into some sort of animal which reflected their character, and who had acquired sufficient notoriety that most of the governments of Europe felt the need to legislate on the issue to protect their citizens.

Ernie looked surprised at Sophie knowing this.

"See, Ernie." Neville beamed. "I told you Sophie has _class_ and knows things about our world.

* * *

><p>Having taken over ownership of the mysterious beetle in the jam-jar, Scrimgeour remained present, but joined the company of Bunbury and Dawlish in protecting the Romanov boy. They briefly parted company from him at the entrance to the screened off area, but rapidly rejoined him when he emerged again on the other side. By this point Sophie was starting to suspect that the Romanov parents had made something of a fuss to the auror office or to at least <em>someone<em> official about making sure that their boy was well-protected, and the aurors were being perhaps a touch over-zealous in response. Or maybe the parents _had_ wanted their son practically smothered with this level of security…

The queue finally wound down, and Ronald Weasley emerged, the last pupil, looking marginally relieved and hands thrust determinedly into his pockets.

Professor McGonagall drew a deep breath.

"Right: now that that has been done, a few last words before we proceed through for the sorting." She trailed off. Tracey Davis had stuck her hand up. "Yes?"

"Miss Davis, ma'am. Tracey Davis. Please, Professor McGonagall: Ron Weasley still has a pet rat in one of his pockets." Tracey Davis boldly said. She cast a triumphant glance in the direction of the aforementioned Ron. "I know because I saw the house-elves bring it to him at the station, where he'd left it on the train. Unless he's lost it again."

Tracey's two companions sniggered at this.

"Is this true, Mr. Weasley?" Professor McGonagall turned on a mortified Ron.

"Err, yes." Ron mumbled.

"Well you will have to hand it over and leave it here with Hagrid." Professor McGonagall said sternly. She pulled a feather out of a pocket, placed it on a table, and with a wave of her wand turned the feather into an ornate metal cage. "There are _no_ exceptions to the 'no pets at the feast rule'. Assuming your family obtained you permission for a pet which is _not_ an owl, cat, or toad, your rat will be removed to your dormitory once you have been sorted, and you can make reacquaintance with him again later. And that should have been 'err, yes, Professor McGonagall' or 'err, yes, ma'am'. Some of the teachers are quite strict and would have at the least given you thirty lines if you were in class and so failed to show respect."

Tracey Davis smirked as a crestfallen Ron Weasley was forced to bring his rat out of his pocket and dropped it into the waiting cage.

"I'll see you again, later, Scabbers." he mumbled.

* * *

><p>"Now that that is over," the deputy headmistress resumed with Ron's rat now removed to join the owls and other pets, "one final reminder especially for those brought up in the muggle world. Hogwarts is an old castle, with many ghosts. Each house has an official 'mascot' ghost, but they are by no means the only ghosts the castle has. There is also a poltergeist, Peeves," her lip curled in disdain, "who enjoys making trouble. Unfortunately only the official Slytherin ghost, and a number of the teachers are able to control him. If Peeves gives you any undue trouble – for example seems to be picking on you especially – you are advised to contact one of your house prefects, your head of house, or the director of defence, Professor Wagner. A couple of years ago Peeves tormented a Hufflepuff whom he'd taken a dislike to for some reason to the point where she wanted to run away. She should have reported it to someone as soon as his bothering her started to get more than annoying. Right. We shall now proceed with the sorting. Follow me, and sit down on the benches provided until it comes to your turn. Once you have been sorted, proceed to the table for first years for your new house."<p>

The deputy headmistress flicked her wand, and the double-doors flew open, revealing a huge hall beyond, lit by a series of half a dozen enormous crystal chandeliers that hung from hefty looking black chains from a vaulted high stone roof. As Sophie dutifully followed on in the group of first years behind the deputy headmistress into what could only be the great hall of Hogwarts she critically inspected the ceiling. Actually pretty much all the first years were looking up at it, even if a fair few of them were then sighing or muttering in disappointment. According to the literature apparently it had magic on it so that it _could_ show the sky outside, but Sophie couldn't see much point to that – and especially on a Highland evening of low cloud and swirling mist as with tonight. Sophie suspected that most of her fellow first years who were showing dissatisfaction right now were ones who had been expecting to see something magical rather than what looked like a stone ceiling with occasional decorative wooden bosses. Sophie certainly did not count herself in the disappointed crowd, since as an example of Gothic vaulting – especially given the period that it dated from and that it had been (supposedly) carved and assembled by giant masons rather than just whipped up with a bit of magic – the roof of the Hogwarts great hall was in her opinion undoubtedly an impressive piece of architecture, up there with some of the great cathedrals of Europe.

Hermione (who had apparently recovered her composure somewhat during her rest in solitude in the corner) had determinedly latched on to Sophie and Neville as the first years headed through into the great hall. Sophie saw Hermione looking up with a disappointed expression and gave her up as a lost cause.

"Umm, the ceiling's not working tonight." Neville murmured to Sophie. "Usually it's bewitched to show…"

"…the sky outside, but this is a _magic_ castle, Neville, and I'd have thought they could have made it out of _glass_ or something like that if they just wanted to look at the clouds." Sophie murmured back, dragging her gaze with some reluctance away from the ceiling. She had hopes that maybe Neville _might_ be persuaded to understand. "But it _is_ working. It's still _up_ there after centuries, a marvel of craftsmanship and engineering. Even if they _did_ have giants to help them build it."

Neville, to give him his due, did at least take a second, somewhat longer, look up at the ceiling, apparently trying to see her point. She saw him look puzzled at something and then do a double-take and slowly open his mouth in the beginnings of an 'Oh'. But by then they were bumping up against the benches the deputy headmistress had mentioned, distracting him from what he might have been about to say.

They had entered the great hall at one end of it, and filed now onto benches set near the entry they'd come in through. There was a clear stretch of floor between these benches and the four rows of long picnic-bench like tables, which ran down the length of the hall and at which what was likely every other pupil in the school was currently sitting, watching the arrival of the first years. Each row of tables had seven tables in it, each table having a pole with a vertical banner in the middle of it and all but the closest table to the first years in each row being thronged with pupils dressed in all manner of outfits, ranging from what seemed to be formal wizarding robes to casual non-magical wear. The closest table in each row was currently empty, awaiting the first years, once they'd been sorted. The banners were decorated with the names and colours of one of each of the Hogwarts houses – green and silver for Slytherin, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, yellow and black for Hufflepuff, and Red and gold for Gryffindor – and had a roman numeral between one and seven on. The empty tables were the ones numbered 'I' for each house.

Towards the far end of the hall a table raised on a dais ran across the hall with adults sitting behind it looking down the hall towards the first years, including a couple of adults Sophie recognised – Professor Snape and Professor Singh. They were presumably mostly staff, though Sophie couldn't see Mr. Snape there. Maybe because he was the school caretaker he was busy with other things tonight, such as checking for any other beetles around that might be of interest to the aurors, or supervising the operation of moving the trunks from the station to the school.

At the central place of the 'high table', sitting in a huge carven chair that was almost throne-like, sat an elderly looking man with a long white beard and dressed in eye-watering robes of turquoise silk decorated with yellow stars – with matching wizard's hat. He had half-moon glasses perched on his nose.

Sophie and her grandfather had come across occasional pictures of the headmaster of Hogwarts in books and newspapers during their research – he was a well-known and politically powerful individual, after all – but those had always been in the sepia tones of such publications. Whilst the man in the central chair to all intents and purposes appeared to be Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (amongst other positions and offices), nothing that Sophie had seen had quite prepared her for the garish shock of the colour mixes he was capable of favouring.

She tried to find a rational explanation for turquoise and yellow of quite those tones in quite that pattern on the clothes of a man of the headmaster's purported age and completely failed. Well not unless said explanation involved his going senile…

She tried to rally her thoughts. This man was the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He supposedly had a lot of power and influence in both those groups. Either _they_ were all senile too to put up with a man who dressed like this, or maybe it was all an act to convince people that he was crazy.

But still, even if it was _just_ for show… Turquoise with _those_ yellow stars. Sophie shuddered.

At the right hand of the headmaster was sitting a self-important looking man in a purple bowler hat who had an auror standing immediately behind his chair, wand in hand. Sophie figured the man in the bowler hat might be an important official – here as a guest of the headmaster – if he rated an auror guard. She was sure she'd seen pictures somewhere of at least _one_ politician with a hat like that.

Behind the high table and its occupants, up against the far end-wall of the great hall, was a huge grandfather clock, at least a dozen feet tall, fancifully carved in the shape of a huge green dragon, with the clock face 'grasped' in its mouth. On high shelves on the wall either side of this monster of a clock were the four large hourglasses that displayed the state of the house-cup competition, the upper bulb of each filled with gems appropriate to the colours of the house the hourglass represented. An upper floor gallery on the wall further above the clock and hourglasses was currently thronged with the translucent silvery-white figures of what Sophie could only presume were ghosts, apparently gathered to witness the sorting.

The headmaster got up from his chair. His eyes twinkling, he flicked his wand and announced in a voice which shook the hall:

"Bring forth the hat, so that the sorting may commence!"

Another door close to where the first-years were sitting, crashed open violently making some of the first years jump, and a HUGE greyish skinned humanoid creature that must be about a dozen feet high (and whose sole concession to attire was some sort of loin cloth) shambled through into the hall carrying a three-legged wooden stool a couple of feet high. The stool had a battered old pointy hat perched on it, and strange sounds were emanating from the hat, apparently directed at the figure carrying the stool and hat. The figure put the stool and hat down, turned and vaguely bowed to the high table, then turned again and shambled out.

"That was a _troll_!" Neville hissed at Sophie, as the door thudded shut behind the creature.

Then the headmaster sat down again in his chair, and a moment of expectant silence fell upon the hall.

And then a tear open just above the brim of the hat, and it burst into song!

"_I am the very model of a sorting piece of millinery, _

_I've sorted magic children since the dawn of Hogwarts' history,_

_The founders bade me houses find for those who came here after them,_

_And powers gave me, of the mind, the thoughts of those I sort to scan,_

_These long years on, still all who come, must pass beneath my scrutiny,_

_Your thoughts I'll weigh, your mettle test, and gauge just what you'll true to be,_

_But worry not of what I learn – your secrets will be safe with me,_

_On all but house, unless you wish, I'm sworn to utmost secrecy…_"

And then a chorus from somewhere up above of invisible singers who sounded like house-elves joined in, taking up a refrain:

"_On all but house, unless you wish, it's sworn to utmost secrecy,_

_On all but house, unless you wish, it's sworn to utmost secrecy,_

_On all but house, unless you wish, it's sworn to ut-most see-ee-eec-recy!_"

The hat proceeded on, solo once more. It had a passable – if somewhat 'creaky' – baritone voice:

"_I've the courage of a lion and the cunning of a Slytherin,_

_The ethic of a badger and the brains a house to put you in,_

_So sally forth and try me on, I'll place you where you ought to be,_

_But cross me and depart these halls in consequential infamy!_"

And again the chorus of invisible singers joined in:

"_So sally forth and try it on, you'll be placed where you ought to be,_

_But cross it and depart these halls in consequential infamy!_"

And with that final warning the singing concluded, and abrupt and vigorous applause swept through the hall from all the tables, accompanied by a good deal of exchange of comments.

"Thank-you, thank-you." the hat announced. "This year's little number was of course inspired by a little musical entertainment regarding high adventure, low skulduggery, romance and above all else sense of duty, set in Cornwall. I would like to thank my assistants in my song this year, from amongst the castle elves. And now, I am quite ready to proceed."

"Abasinger, Deborah." Professor McGonagall read out from a list.

A black girl stood up and looked uncertain. Sophie idly thought that this might be one of Ron Weasley's companions of the trip across the lake by boat.

"Go forward, sit down on the stool, and put the hat on." the deputy headmistress instructed.

The black girl went forward picked up the hat, sat on the stool and pulled the hat on. Properly speaking the hat looked sized for an adult and flopped down over her eyes. A look of surprise crossed Deborah's face after a few moments, although nothing obvious seemed to be happening. Sophie speculated on the possibility that the hat was talking to Deborah inside her head? Whilst her grandfather had discovered that a mind-reading hat placed pupils (and even that information uncovered from sortings was kept confidential) there hadn't been any mention that it might sing a song, so clearly their information about the hat had been at least partially incomplete. After a bit longer the hat shouted out loud:

"Ravenclaw!"

Deborah got up, took the hat off, put it back on the stool, and headed a bit uncertainly for the empty Ravenclaw table, to applause from the high table and the other tables of Ravenclaws.

"Abbott, Hannah." the deputy headmistress announced.

The blonde girl who was Susan's friend got up and headed for the stool and the hat. After a short period the hat announced that she was a "Hufflepuff!" and to applause again from the high table and the Hufflepuffs this time, she headed for her new table.

The next girl, "Black, Kara" generated an expectant hush around the hall, and when she became the first "Slytherin!" of the evening, there were groans of disappointment from the tables of three of the houses, but applause generally for her – not just from Slytherin and the high table.

After that "Bones, Susan" was sorted into Gryffindor, giving a longing look at her friend Hannah, but getting an encouraging thumbs-up sign back.

Then, the sorting passed in something of a blur. Some pupils sat on the stool looking back at their fellow unsorted first years as they were sorted, but most looked in the direction of a table they hoped (so Sophie guessed) to be sorted to. The Boot boy who'd been left on the train by the probable Weasley twins went to Gryffindor. Sophie vaguely noticed the girl Neville had mentioned wanting to avoid (and of the suspected recent head-lice infestation), Lavender Brown, also being sorted into Gryffindor, and Stephen Cornfoot joining the Ravenclaws. Immediately after Stephen, "Crabbe, Vincent" was called, who advanced on the hat looking almost confident. He was one of the two boys whom Sophie had thus far never seen Tracey Davis without. The hat sent him to Hufflepuff, a bewildered expression on his face. "Davis, Tracey" was up next, and she looked distinctly _worried_ at Vincent's fate. It was with a scowl of disbelief on her face that she was sent to Gryffindor.

Sophie personally wasn't that surprised at the choice of house for Tracey, given Tracey's apparent enthusiasm for recklessly flinging herself into fights and rushing to the front of queues…

The black boy in velvet who'd asked Hagrid about the caretaker at the station turned out to be "Drake, Barnabas" and he looked _pleased_ in contrast to be sent to Gryffindor.

Several more sortings followed and then Tracey and Vincent's friend, "Goyle, Gregory" followed Vincent into Hufflepuff.

Then Hermione was called for, and the hat dispatched her after a lengthy pause to Ravenclaw.

Hermione looked worried as she headed for those first-years already sitting at the table of her new house, and glanced back at Sophie and Neville.

"I don't think she believes we're the type of witch or wizard to make it to Ravenclaw." Neville whispered to Sophie. "And thank Merlin if we aren't."

More sortings followed. "Hopkins, Wayne" the boy who'd fallen asleep on the train was sent to Hufflepuff. And then, several names after him, at last "Longbottom, Neville" was called and Neville straightened up and with as much dignity as he could muster headed forward to learn his fate.

After a while, the hat placed him in Slytherin.

It was with something like relief on his face that Neville headed across to the appropriate table. That was likely since he'd avoided being sorted into the same house as either Lavender or Hermione, Sophie figured.

After a couple of MacDougal girls who seemed to be twins were each placed in Ravenclaw – to the particular delight of a small man at the high table – Neville's friend, Ernie, was sent to Hufflepuff, and then Draco was called for. Draco eventually went to Slytherin.

Half a dozen sortings later, it was finally Sophie's turn.

* * *

><p>"Potter, Sophie."<p>

So it had come at last. Sophie got to her feet, removed her baseball cap (tucking it in a pocket) and headed for the stool, acting as if a pink shell-suit top was _entirely_ the most appropriate thing to wear for an occasion such as this. Despite the thumping of her heart of which she was suddenly painfully acutely aware, she endeavoured to maintain an air of debonair (whatever that meant) and outrageously Saintly calm and grace.

There were murmurs going around the hall.

She _did_ glance in the direction of Ron Weasley, and noted the look of absolute horror on his face as he realised just _who_ he'd raised a wand against on the Express.

She paused before sitting down, and drew the deepest breath she could.

"That's 'Sophie _Theresa_ Potter'." she did her best to clarify to the entire school. "No unicorn today, but I did bring my middle name instead."

She wanted to say more – much more – but an instinct was warning her to keep it short and snappy, and leave them _wondering_ about just what was and wasn't true?

Then she picked up the hat, sat down, and pulled the hat on.

* * *

><p><em>Good evening Miss Potter.<em> The hat seemed to chuckle inside her head for a moment. _Quite the sensation you caused there. Your father would have approved, I feel sure. Why it seems like only yesterday, that I had him under my brim…_

As Sophie had suspected, the Sorting Hat apparently held conversations with pupils in their heads – and it was on (and in) her head right now.

_Are you really a thousand years old?_ She thought back at it, dealing with the mention of her father by quite simply switching the topic to something she was interested in and felt she could handle right now. (Although this mention of her father hadn't come as quite the same sudden blow as when Nurse Pomfrey brought it up.)

_Hmm. What? Oh, yes, I was Godric Gryffindor's hat. I get spruced up a bit or patched every couple of centuries, but the founders would recognise me if they wandered into Hogwarts tonight. And Salazar would no doubt crack a joke or two at my expense… Now, then, Miss Potter…_

_Was he actually as anti-muggle-born as the books my grandfather and I have come across make out? Salazar Slytherin? Only given it's been all those years since the time of the founders – and all the wild stories in circulation about me within only a decade of Hallowe'en 1981 – we were wondering how accurate the stories around about the founders actually are? And it just didn't seem… terribly 'cunning'… if he __was__ actually anti-muggle-born to be quite so obvious about it._

_There are a number of reasons why he could have been anti-muggle-born, and still have been counted cunning for openly saying so, but as it happens Salazar has been much misquoted over the years, and seldom does anybody bother to talk to an old hat which actually knew the man about what he thought, said, and did. Salazar actually had quite a moderate stance on muggle-borns for his time – especially compared to one of the other founders – but he figured someone needed to handle society's bigots, and that he was better placed than the other three founders to take them on. However, I am supposed to be trying to sort you into a house, Miss Potter, not discussing history._

_Well not unless it matters to where I go, surely?_

_Well not unless it does, Miss Potter. But the sort of history which usually concerns me is that in your case your only recent wizarding ancestors have all been Gryffindors._

_So you send people into houses because that was where their relatives went?_

_No, Miss Potter, and certainly not this year, but it gives me some context in which to frame and form my opinions of my charges' characters. I'm certainly prepared to send a child to a house that flies directly in the face of 'family traditions' – especially if a sortee is interested. Why, to take one example from recent history, Sirius Black… Ahhh, but that's off on a tangent again, even if he was in your father's little gang._

For some reason the hat was back on the topic of her father again. She briefly assessed how she felt. Relatively calm. Oh well, she was readier to deal with this now, and since the hat apparently wanted to talk about this anyway, she might as well see what it wanted to say…

_My father had a 'gang'?_

_I'd be shuffling around the edge of confidences, if I go into too much detail, but I'll go so far as to comment on some things regarding your father which I can be certain he wouldn't mind his daughter know. Yes, your father had a gang. Called themselves the Marauders. Met on the train to Hogwarts, I placed them all into Gryffindor, it went on from there. Sometimes a sorting like that works, sometimes it doesn't. But you're really, quite clearly, not your father, Miss Potter. You ask far too many questions. Your thoughts are in too many different directions at a time. Now James had a one-track mind, and a tendency to frequently jump into things without thinking – which I gather stuck with him right through his school days – hence my placing him in Gryffindor, although given his strong sense of loyalty to his friends, Hufflepuff was a strong possibility, too. But you: you're much trickier to place. An interest in research which would fit in Ravenclaw, a work-ethic when it moves you that would fit in Hufflepuff, an ability to charge in – when necessary – which would fit in Gryffindor, and a preparation to use deceit and low-cunning which would fit in Slytherin. Hmm. I can't believe you got most of this from your father or his side of the family. You must have got some of this from the non-magical side, and your mother and her immediate forebears would have been truly interesting sorts, I have little doubt, had they had any magical ability. Well, at present, I'm inclining towards Gryffindor, as like all your recent ancestors, you do not seem to be lacking in the courage department, and you certainly possess enough to get by there – plus you could reap serious quantities of acclaim and glory on account of your 'Girl-Who-Lived' status, as Gryffindor house has a reputation for members being big heroes and heroines. Or perhaps I could place you in Slytherin, which would immediately upset a lot of people who have been assuming you'll turn out the archetypical Gryffindor – which I sense might suit you – and where you'd certainly be cunning enough to fit in. Although, as Salazar was known to not occasionally comment, true cunning can find a home anywhere._

The mention of her father's gang's name might be useful to Sophie someday if she ever felt inclined to find out more about them, and the hat seemed to think that they mattered in some manner for some reason. Sophie tried not to too visibly frown at this distraction, and to keep focused on the matter in hand.

_Well I know better, I hope, than to pick a house simply on the basis that it will annoy people, and it's not as if I haven't… Oh, wait, that was a trick comment, wasn't it? _

_Correct, Miss Potter. And it clarifies things beautifully. It has been a genuine pleasure to sort you, and on account of your preference for low cunning, I really can only put you in one house for now…_

And the hat announced to the hall in general: "Slytherin!"

_Hmmph._ Sophie thought rapidly at it as she began to stand up. _If I want to converse with you at some point later, where do you usually 'live' and how easy is it to get an interview?_

_In between sortings I can usually, alas, be found on the mantelpiece of the headmaster's office. It is a deadly dull existence, except when there are conversations I'm not supposed to be a part of to eavesdrop on or odd excursions to history of magic classes. Drop by any time you can find an excuse, Miss Potter._

And she reluctantly took the hat off and replaced it on the stool for the next pupil, adjusted her hair, and headed purposefully for the nearer side of the first year Slytherin table and Neville and Draco. She didn't bother replacing the baseball cap now. They all knew she was Sophie Potter without needing to see the scar, and she'd had the cap on quite long enough already today – shampooing her hair was going to be necessary at some point in the next twenty four hours or so.

After her rather lengthy sorting, there had been a moment of stunned silence, whilst the hat's announcement of her house sunk in, then a rapid response of enthusiastic applause from the Slytherins, and a slightly more delayed, and a slightly slower and quieter response from the other houses.

Looking straight down the hall at the high table whilst she was wearing the Sorting Hat, Sophie had been in a good position to see the reactions of its occupants and she had noticed that the headmaster had _definitely_ looked concerned for a moment – and almost betrayed for some reason – upon seeing her sorted into Slytherin, but he had recovered and was beaming away and clapping now, as if this was just any other sorting.

"You _could_ have told me." Neville said, as Sophie sat down between him and Draco. "I sat with you for hours on board the Express without knowing who you were."

"Neville. You sat for hours on board the Express finding out who I am _without_ anything you've read or had read to you over the past decade about 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' getting in the way." Sophie pointed out. She glanced at Draco, to her right. "Thanks for keeping that one secret Draco."

"Mutual interests and so forth." Draco said. "Good thing we're in the same house, since apparently my mother and father feel you have inherited some sort of obligation we owe you. This makes things easier if we need to talk."

"Wait, weren't you in that apartment with the notice up in the door window?" a girl who was sitting to Draco's immediate right glanced past him at Sophie. She had honey-blonde hair, was dressed in robes of a practical green tweed, and currently had a highly _annoyed_ expression on her face. She looked annoyed. "The notice which said The-Girl-Who-Lived is not _in_ this apartment?"

"No." Sophie said. "I was in a compartment with a notice up in the window which said that nobody was going to _admit_ to being The-Girl-Who-Lived, so please don't bother asking."

There was a pause, and then the other girl nodded _very_ slowly, the annoyed expression being replaced by a thoughtful, almost appreciative look.

"Oooh. Sneaky."

"It was getting annoying with people going up and down the train pestering us." Sophie said.

"Right, well, at least you seem like you might fit right in here, if that's anything to go by." the other girl said. She sounded much friendlier now. "Actually the hat seems to be doing a better job of it this year than from what I've heard could happen. In fact…"

At this point the other girl was interrupted by the hat shouting: "Slytherin!"

They all turned to look, and saw Suliman al Rashid rising and taking off the hat, as the rest of Slytherin started applauding.

"Who's that?" Draco frowned as he and the rest of the Slytherin first years joined in. "I missed the name."

"Suliman al Rashid. He was giving his name on the Express as that of some character out of _The Arabian Nights_, I think." Sophie said. "Auror Scrimgeour addressed him as 'your highness' on the platform at Hogsmeade, so I think he must be a prince or something, though I can't blame him for not wanting to be recognised on the Express. He stopped by for a bit to play _Battleship_ with us, before hurrying off to meet someone at Carstairs."

Suliman nodded respectfully to Kara Black as he approached the Slytherin table, and then plonked himself on Neville's left, his eyes brightening.

"It seems you may end up with further chances to sink many more of my ships." Suliman said to Neville. "Although, perhaps I can learn enough to give you a run for your money."

"It was Sophie's game, though maybe if we ask her nicely and promise not to make too much of a fuss about the Girl-Who-Lived thing, she might let us borrow it."

"Excuse me, please, but may I make introductions, here?" the girl to Draco's right leaned forward, to look across at Suliman. "I'm Daphne Greengrass, of a family who have been spice-merchants and tea-traders for many generations, and although we're nowhere near as significant as the Blacks, so far I seem to be the best-placed girl to be sorted into Slytherin in our year to do etiquette stuff." She was picking her words carefully, Sophie noticed, having apparently paid heed to that slight nod Suliman gave Kara. "This is Draco Malfoy, Sophie and Neville you've already met, I'm not sure if you know him, but that's Justin Finch-Fletchley sitting over there next to Kara. Apparently Justin's family were going to send him to the highly respected muggle school of Eton, before his Hogwarts letter arrived." Justin Finch-Fletchley was a smartly dressed boy with curly brown hair and brown eyes wearing a shirt, tie, and dark grey blazer. "Then there's Theodore Nott," a dark-haired boy in formal robes sitting opposite Neville nodded stiffly, "next to him a native American Indian who for our sake is going under a loose translation of his name which is apparently 'Great White Bear'" a boy in a black t-shirt and jeans with dark hair and the skin tone of someone of his supposed heritage nodded _very_ slowly, "and that's Sally-Anne Perks" a girl with long wavy light brown hair, hazel eyes, and in robes a style and shade of turquoise considerably more sensible than the headmaster's own waved nervously.

In the background the hat shouted, "Hufflepuff!" as it sorted yet another pupil.

"So: how should we refer to you?" Neville asked Suliman.

"Just call me 'Suliman'. Or 'Ja'far' if you must." Suliman looked amused. "Father counselled me that given the number of people who would have to die before _he_ needs to start worrying about matters of state, it would be good for me 'not to stand on formality' with people my own age I'm supposed to be friendly with."

* * *

><p>Conversation was nonetheless tricky for now – especially with the sorting still going on in the background, and at least a couple of names Sophie was interested in still to come. Her attention was occasionally diverted to check what was going on, and to try to gauge how close Ron Weasley in particular was to being sorted. He had adopted a sort of sickly expression, and was looking increasingly downhearted, ever since Sophie's own sorting. He kept making half motions to a pocket, and then stopping and either looking glum or glaring at the first-year Gryffindor table and, Sophie suspected, Tracey Davis. Apparently he was missing his rat.<p>

Here, at the first-year Slytherin table, Theodore Nott looked completely out of his depth amongst the others. He looked to Sophie like someone who had expected to find friends and allies here who had been sorted elsewhere, and who wasn't too sure how to cope with the company in which he _was_ ending up. For now he was trying to ignore his fellow first-year Slytherins – especially Sophie, for some reason – under the pretence of being particularly interested in the still ongoing sortings, but at some point unless the rapidly thinning ranks did present him with a friend he knew, he was going to have to start interacting with the rest of them or be completely isolated.

Somehow the conversation (minus the obstinately non-participant Theodore) got onto the topic of foreign countries and of which ones they'd been to. By the sound of it Draco had been to more than anyone else would admit to (except Sophie) and he professed to be able to count up to ten in Spanish and to know a few more or less useful phrases (though most of which, he said, were to do with olives). Daphne said she _had_ been on several 'business trips' to the Caribbean, with her parents, and Suliman and Great White Bear had _grown up_ in foreign countries – except from the point of view of the latter two, they'd of course grown up in their _homelands_ and _Britain_ was a _foreign_ country.

In the background, Sophie noticed the Romanov boy, finally able to escape his aurors, sent to Ravenclaw.

Great White Bear occasionally said something if it seemed expected of him, but was otherwise simply sitting and _watching_ what was going on, though without looking at all uncomfortable. Well, there was something about his posture which suggested that he might be unused to the clothes he was currently wearing, but otherwise he seemed content to sit back and watch.

Sally-Anne Perks continued to be nervously excited and occasionally chatty.

The conversation ebbed and flowed and switched directions several times, Daphne doing her best to be amenable to everyone. Apparently Suliman had 'corresponded' with Kara ever since his father settled on Hogwarts as a school for him, since she was the most important person of Suliman's own age that his father had been able to track down the location of likely to attend Hogwarts. (Suliman apologised to Sophie that his father had taken no steps to trace her, but his father had taken one look at the literature available and concluded Sophie was some sort of entirely fictitious character and so not made any efforts.) Kara herself was reluctant to disclose where exactly she had been living for the past few years (or was possibly magically unable to do so) but did reveal that on her part, her mother had considered it best for Kara to board the Express 'at the last moment necessary' which meant Kara had got on at Carstairs. Kara had been relieved to discover that what people _were_ 'celebrity hunting' by that point were bothering only about The-Girl-Who-Lived and had seldom actually pressed her for her name once she denied being Sophie Potter.

At the other Slytherin tables, the pupils who were in the higher years in the house were clearly enthusiastically discussing the sortings, and frequently directing glances towards the first-years – most often at Sophie and Kara, although Suliman was getting occasional looks too. At one point a pupil on the fifth year table made rapid arm motions which Sophie suspected mimed whipping a wand out and casting a spell – in response to _that_ there were sounds of disbelief and argument, cut short when Percy Weasley broke in to say something. Sophie got a _lot_ more glances after that. She suspected her encounter with Ron Weasley on board the Express was starting to spread, framed in the context of her being _Sophie Theresa Potter_. Oh well, that had been bound to happen.

Sophie noticed Theodore Nott switch to a look of genuine – rather than feigned – interest as a pupil was called, and turned to give the latest sorting a look herself. The blond-haired boy who had just been called was advancing across the floor with a self-important expression on his face. Sophie nudged Neville.

"Do you know who that is?" she asked him.

"Oh, that's Zacharias Smith." Neville said, turning to look, as the boy sat down and pulled on the hat. "His family like to claim they're descended from one of the Hogwarts founders, Helga Hufflepuff, and he thinks a _lot_ of himself. Probably a lot more than he's actually worth."

Out on the stool Zacharias' face *twitched* at something apparently happening in the conversation going on with the hat inside his head, and an annoyed, petulant, scowl started to spread across his face, replacing the earlier pompous look.

Sophie frowned. Zacharias had the look of a spoiled boy used to being told how great he was – and of getting his own way – who was finding unexpected resistance for once.

"There's something going on there." she said to Neville.

Apparently others seemed to think so too, as gradually the conversations around the hall died away, as attention focused on the boy currently being sorted, whose face was progressively going redder and redder.

Finally the hat spoke up, and delivered its verdict:

"Unworthy! I sort you into no house and send you hence from this school's doors! Depart upon the morrow, and try again in January if you believe by then that you are more interested in an education than in massaging your own delinquent ego!"

The boy got to his feet, as a stunned silence washed over the hall, pulled the hat off his head and flung it to the floor, and shouted: "You should treat a descendent of Helga Hufflepuff with more respect!"

Theodore Nott *flinched*.

For a moment it looked like Zacharias was going to stamp on or kick the hat in a temper tantrum, but then something flashed from the tip of the wand of the small man at the head table who'd been so excited about the MacDougals going to Ravenclaw, and Zacharias froze, in place, and then slowly toppled over, immobilised.

The deputy headmistress snapped her fingers and a couple of house-elves in Hogwarts pillow-case uniforms materialised with sharp *cracks* next to her.

"Remove Mr. Smith to my office." she ordered, her expression stern. "Keep him immobilised. I shall be along to deal with him later."

The house-elves picked up Mr. Smith, and carried him out of the Great Hall, whilst the deputy headmistress retrieved the hat, dusted it off slightly, and returned it to the stool.

"_No_ prospective pupil, no matter _what_ genuine or imagined descent that they may claim, is bigger than the school or entitled to order the doings to the Sorting Hat." the hat announced in ringing tones. "We will continue with the sorting now, deputy headmistress."

A wash of hyperactive chatter immediately rolled around the great hall. There was clearly no doubt in the mind of everyone that they had just witnessed something momentous in the history of Hogwarts sortings. The Sorting Hat had just _thrown out_ a boy from an important family, who might be descended from one of the very Hogwarts founders.

"Zacharias is a disappointment to his family, behaving like that." Theodore shook his head in disgust.

* * *

><p>The next few sortings were relatively tame. In amongst them, a girl called Sarah Studsley with a broad northern English accent ended up in Slytherin. (Sophie thought this girl might have been the one in the boat with Ron Weasley and the black girl.) Sarah was a girl with close-cropped dark hair, swathed in a blue coat currently several sizes too big for her with a fake fur trimming to the hood, beneath which she was wearing a plain white blouse and a very <em>long<em> dark grey skirt which looked like it had been roughly adapted with a sewing machine from a garment originally cut for an adult. Sarah plonked herself without formality down between Justin Finch-Fletchley and Theodore Nott, which seemed to add a new dimension to Theodore Nott's social discomfort – maybe that was due to his now being sitting next to a _girl_ who he didn't know, Sophie had to wonder? At any rate Daphne again did her round of introductions, which was getting increasingly confident. Sarah apparently came from a council estate. This latter news seemed to set Theodore off in giving Sarah occasional, furtive, sideways glances, a highly puzzled expression on his face.

And at last there came a call for the sorting which Sophie had been watching out for, of: "Weasley, Ronald".

Ron looked increasingly gloomy as his sorting progressed.

"That's the plonker Deborah and I were in a boat with." Sarah identified Ron. "Had a pet rat he tried to shove at us, thinking we'd like to look at it. Deborah asked him if he thought it looked as if it had fleas, which stopped _that_. Wasn't surprised he seemed set on trying to sneak his rat into the sorting, before that Davis girl grassed him up. Was tempted to do so myself, but thought it might be a bit reckless."

At length the hat spoke up:

"Deputy headmistress: Whilst I have offered to place Mr. Weasley in a house, he has expressed a firm desire to depart the school and return to his family home, to learn what he can there. He is resolute upon this issue. I request on his behalf that he be withdrawn, without prejudice."

"Duly noted." the deputy headmistress said. "Please return to the benches for unsorted pupils, Mr. Weasley, and I shall attend to you after the sorting. Although certain disciplinary issues outstanding which you have become involved in since boarding the Express this morning will need to be accounted for to the school's satisfaction if you _do_ return home."

Ron nodded even more gloomily, got up and headed back for the benches on which unsorted pupils sat, with the hat still on his head, until the hat politely *coughed*, at which point he looked startled then hurriedly took it off and returned it to the stool.

Sarah snorted and muttered something about 'pathetic', as another ripple of urgent conversation went around the hall, although not equal to that which had followed Zacharias Smith's dispatch.

"Home-sick do you reckon?" Neville glanced at Sophie, referring to the Weasley sorting. "He looked rather bad."

"That was the boy who tried to jinx me on the train." Sophie said. "The one," she was careful to again leave Hermione out of it, "there was a rumour about me being disguised as."

"Oh." said Neville.

"He drew his wand?" Theodore stared at Sophie. "On _you_? Did he have _any_ idea who you were?"

"I think he grabbed someone else's wand, and I don't think he knew who I was – just that he'd seen me earlier with Neville, here, whom he didn't seem to like very much." Sophie said. "Anyway: I disarmed him before he could do anything." She tried to sound matter-of-fact about it, rather than boastful.

"Idiot." Theodore muttered. Then he gulped and hastily added: "Ronald, not you." in case Sophie had somehow mistaken the intended target of the expressed sentiment. Then he sank back into silence.

Sophie glanced up the hall again and saw that Percy was a centre of attention once more at his table, presumably as the fate of his brother was discussed and dissected.

After Ron's sorting (or rather declination to be sorted), a girl with a French-sounding name, "de Winter, Genevieve" was called. Although Neville's friend, Ernie, hadn't mentioned a surname of the French girl in his compartment on the Express, this had been the only 'Genevieve' Sophie had noticed called so far, and with the only other pupils as yet uncalled now a sun-tanned boy and a girl who looked to Sophie rather like the one she had encountered in Ollivanders (which latter had _definitely_ been English), it seemed a reasonably safe bet that this must be the one and same Genevieve who was so good at 'exploding snap'. After a short while Genevieve pulled a face and moments later the hat placed her in Slytherin.

Genevieve de Winter approached the Slytherin first year table almost cautiously and asked very slowly and carefully with a noticeable accent if she might sit in between Sophie and Draco? Sophie was reasonably sure Miss de Winter (who had very dark brown hair – so dark as to be almost black – and strange silvery coloured irises to her eyes) was Up To Something. Sophie looked at Draco who shrugged.

Sophie sighed and, figuring the fastest way to find out what the girl wanted was to give her her chance, budged over.

"Excuse me: are you the French girl who was on the Express?" Neville leaned across Sophie to ask Genevieve. "And if so, do you speak much English?"

"Of _course_ she speaks English." Sophie said, barely casting a glance at the other girl's face. "She wouldn't be _here_ if she didn't, or not without a translator always hanging around."

"That is… very… fast-witted of you." Genevieve said carefully after only the most fleeting of pauses to think about the situation. She made a motion with her right hand somewhere between two and three feet off the floor. "I _am_ French, but I have been learning your language from when I was close to *that* high. My family like us to learn another language from when we are little."

Draco gave an appreciative whistle. Daphne raised her eyebrows. Then Daphne did her round of introductions again.

With increasing anticipation from everyone in the hall, the last couple of sortings flew past.

The name of "Yaxley, Patricia" confirmed to Sophie that the girl _was_ the one she'd seen in Ollivanders back in July, and Patricia ended up in Gryffindor.

The suntanned boy turned out to be "Zabini, Blaise" and had a fairly languid approach to the stool and hat. In the end he was sent to Ravenclaw. The sorting had commenced with a Ravenclaw, and finished with a Ravenclaw, and at a quick glance across all the first year tables it was clear that Ravenclaw had gained the most pupils of any house tonight.

The troll was not recalled, but Professor McGonagall herself removed the Sorting Hat and stool, collecting the lonely figure of Ron Weasley from the benches of the unsorted on her way out of the hall, to no doubt do whatever was needed with him and to perhaps go sort out the Smith boy, too.

Scrimgeour and the other two aurors who'd accompanied Nicolas Romanov until the moment that he'd been sorted discreetly departed too, jobs apparently done. They'd twitched almost into action when the Zacharias Smith sorting had concluded so dramatically, but had otherwise been entirely unobtrusive during the last stages of the sorting.

Then the headmaster stood up.

"Good evening to all of you. In case any of our newcomers have yet to see one of the chocolate frog cards or numerous other places in which my image pops up, I am Albus Dumbledore – or 'Professor Dumbledore' from the perspective of any students at this fine establishment – and headmaster of Hogwarts. For the reference of our older students, I have been working on the staff team's strike rate over the holidays, and this year I fully intend to see the staff regain the staff versus pupils bowling cup." A laugh went around the hall from the second year and above pupils. "Now, I gather from the rumbling noise emanating from some stomachs in the vicinity, that some of us are very hungry, but I have, alas, a few important announcements to make before we eat." the headmaster continued. "First and foremost, the old defence suite in the Empire Wing of the castle has been sealed off, since a large quantity of dangerous vegetation turned up there over the holidays. Quite how it got there is something of a puzzle to members of staff, but for the safety of pupils a three-headed guard-dog – which our groundskeeper informs me is named 'Fluffy' – is being quartered above the sole remaining access point, and a teacher will be stationed there when Fluffy is out for 'walkies'. I appreciate pupils may be curious – or annoyed in the case of returning pupils, if a favourite part of the castle has been denied to them – but I would request all pupils to stay out until the time and resources can be found to deal with the contents of the subsection appropriately. It may not be until next summer that we are able to treat it properly. I repeat that all pupils are requested to keep out, and a letter will be going out to parents and guardians notifying them of the situation and that we have taken steps to encourage pupils to stay out of the area. As with the Forbidden Forest, in which perilous creatures might be encountered, this area is out of bounds for pupils who are unaccompanied by a teacher, auror or other responsible and competent adult – and in any case pupils should never be in such areas without written, specific, permission from a parent or guardian being lodged with the school beforehand. To not do so is a possible expulsion offence." He paused and a murmur went around the hall, which he waited to die away before resuming.

"Secondly, Mr. Snape has updated the list of banned items from Zonko's. Pupils caught with contraband items will face automatic detention and loss of house points. Copies of the list have already been posted to the four house common-rooms, as many returning pupils may already have noticed. Thirdly, possession by pupils of an invisibility cloak of any description on the school premises, without obtaining written permission from your head of house before the term starts, is not permitted. Following a number of incidents last year, every tenth trunk coming up from the station tonight is being checked for contraband items, and some of you may consequently notice when you return to your dormitories that your trunks have been disturbed. Whilst any items confiscated during these searches will _not_ result in loss of points or detentions, confiscated items _may_ only be returned if there is an exceptionally good reason and by process of appeal to the pupil's head of house. As in accordance with school regulations, compensation may be requested by the former owner for any individual items confiscated in such a search worth more than three galleons." He paused a moment. "On a more cheerful note, you may have noticed that the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has stopped by to grace our Welcoming feast tonight," he indicated the man in the purple bowler hat on his immediate right, who flushed, slightly, "and we are of course joined tonight by this year's 'guest' defence teacher, Professor Jagmohan Singh, and a new face in the glasshouses to assist Professor Sprout, Professor Angelica Greenfinger. We would also be welcoming Monsieur Pierre Lefevbre, as our new master of revels, but due to a 'family commitment' he could not be here tonight. He will, however, as is the tradition, be one half of the opening act in tomorrow evening's annual start-of-year staff duels. Since Monsieur Lefevbre was not available to express a preference of opponent, one was selected for him at random from the draw of unseeded teachers by the Minister, although the Minister has consented to keep the results of the draw a secret. Now, you will no doubt be relieved to hear that that is the end of my list of announcements and so, without further ado, let us eat!"

* * *

><p>Author Notes: (Updated, 8th January, 2013, revised again (regarding Theodore), 28th May, 2014)<p>

Just to repeat here a note that I've also now added to the Author Notes of the 'Prelude' of this story: Canon capitalises some words (such as 'Devil's Snare' and 'Bludger') but not others (such as 'mandrake' and 'broom'). I'm unclear as to what rules govern this in canon in most circumstances, and unless such words seem to me to be proper nouns, pseudonyms, or to otherwise merit particular emphasis (as with 'Unforgiveable Curses' in the latter case) I will be foregoing such capitalisation.

Besides updating the prelude with this additional note, I've continued to tweak the odd word here and there, including ensuring consistency of capitalisation in '_Hogwarts, a History_', replacing a couple of instances of 'merfolk' in 'Hogwarts Express' with 'Merpeople' (see a later note in this section), and amending a mention Sophie's grandfather makes to her of the circumstances of where Sophie's parents were staying in Godric's Hollow so that the residence is described as a 'safe-house' instead of simply as a house.

Although canon Rufus Scrimgeour becomes head of the auror office at some point, as of September the first, 1991, the Rufus Scrimgeour of this particular universe is merely a senior auror.

I'm not clear on the date in canon that Hogwarts initiated the practise of conveying first years to school to be sorted by boat across the lake, but it's always possible that Neville's gran had been winding him up with the story Neville recounted in the previous chapter of his gran having had to walk to Hogwarts through snow on her first day.

Whilst double-checking things for this chapter, I discovered that 'merpeople' is the word used in canon to describe the beings who have the upper bodies of humans, and the tails of fish, but it just didn't seem to me to be a word that would naturally come out of the mouth of Rubeus Hagrid, so I've taken the liberty of assuming 'merfolk' is an old-fashioned, 'romantic' word for merpeople, which Hagrid stubbornly uses. I have, however, changed a couple of uses of 'merfolk' I made in the previous chapter for 'merpeople'.

Since such beings have their own language (Mermish) I'm in some doubt that they'd care what witches/wizards were calling them in their own tongues, so long as it wasn't something outright rude.

Scrimgeour's comment '…Dirty business, wars, the more so when you don't have any reliable spies or informants. Dumbledore thought he had one and look how that turned out…' is an oblique reference to Sirius Black, whom Albus Dumbledore trusted to attempt to infiltrate the Death Eaters for him in the latter years of the war in this particular universe. There will be more on this episode of murky dealings, friends betrayed, and outrageous treason in later chapters.

I'm not aware of any 'house-elf balls' featuring in Harry Potter canon. There are traditions in the real-world of festivities where servants are honoured or given rule, dating back at least as far as the Roman festival of Saturnalia, and it seems reasonable to me for at least some households or institutions of the magical world might involve their house-elves in some such celebration.

In this alternate universe, as has already been mentioned in some of the supporting material, Voldemort and his elite werewolf allies (with some Death Eater support), almost took Hogwarts and toppled Dumbledore during the summer of 1980. In the wake of this event, which became known as 'The Battle of Hogwarts', a process of extensive upgrading and remodelling the defences of the castle was commenced. These alterations included (but were by no means limited to) altering the 'landward' access to/from the underground harbour so that it came up directly inside the castle, instead of somewhere in the grounds, and installing a portcullis and procuring the assistance of a linnorm to control access to the harbour.

To the best of my knowledge, at my time of writing this (in October, 2012) linnorms are not a part of the official Harry Potter canon. Under a number of variations of the name 'linnorm', serpentine wingless dragons pop up in real-world culture and mythology, some sentient and capable of speaking in the languages of men and women. However, the closest thing to the concept I've been able to find mention of so far in Harry Potter canon are sea-serpents (which have horse-like heads and are apparently sufficiently friendly to have not been known to ever hurt humans) which didn't quite have the _edge_ I'm looking for as a guardian of a potential weak spot in the Hogwarts defences. So, anyway, there's a linnorm on watch down there in this universe.

The tune the house-elves whistle on the march from the harbour (which Sophie doesn't recognise but thinks is from a war film) is _Colonel Bogey_.

I'm not aware of any of the suits of armour around Hogwarts having been given names in canon or having had traditions attached to them, but it seemed to me to be the sort of thing which might happen with centuries of children (some of them no doubt seriously bored at times) having passed through the school.

The note the house-elf delivers to Professor McGonagall whilst the first years are being inspected for nits and which is the source of apparent dismay for Ron Weasley is from the headmaster, concerning punishments for him additional to those already awarded by the head-girl to Ron, for the brawl on the Express. (These are the ones which resulted from the headmaster's conversation with the head-girl covered in 'Gearing Up'.)

As far as I know the Venetian family of spies and assassins who prompted Europe-wide laws to attempt to control animagi is not part of canon, but seemed to me to be the sort of thing which might credibly have happened. As far as I know I've invented this detail, but given the number of stories around it's possible someone else has had this idea before me in fanfiction.

Ronald Weasley hangs back in the queue to see Madam Pomfrey because he's worried Scabbers could have fleas (as one of the girls in his boat suggested to him) and he's trying to put off seeing Madam Pomfrey in consequence. He in fact (in confidence) gets her to check Scabbers when he does reach the corner, and she confirms Ron's rat is flea-free, which relieves Ron greatly.

In canon, the four Hogwarts houses simply have one long table each in the great hall, as far as I can understand running parallel to one another down the length of the hall. In the Saint Potter universe someone noticed that it would make for easier circulation and faster seating at mealtimes if, instead of that arrangement, there were a greater number of smaller tables with clear floor-space around each – say one for each year group of each house. Heads of house set rules (or guidelines) for pupils welcoming others from outside their house and year group to sit with them at 'their table' at meals, although prefects are generally permitted to sit at any table of their house.

The troll appearing in this chapter is technically a member of Hogwarts' defence against the dark arts staff, and (as far as humans are concerned) is named 'Growff'. Usually he's only involved with upper year OWL and NEWT classes, and when present at Hogwarts in between such classes he 'lives' in (what by troll standards amounts to) a gilded cage down in the dungeons.

As I mentioned in the notes of the second chapter of 'Gearing Up', the Sorting Hat song is loosely based on (and to the approximate tune of) 'The Major General's Song' from _The Pirates of Penzance_. The hat _did_ end up slightly adjusting the song from the version Filius Flitwick heard being rehearsed in the second chapter of 'Gearing Up'. (The headmaster has also updated/reworded his section of his speech which refers to the third floor corridor, which he ran past Filius in the fourth chapter of 'Gearing Up'.)

On the topic of Salazar Slytherin, for the purposes of this universe, I'm taking a view that what he actually thought about muggles and muggle-borns has been misrepresented and hijacked by politicians and ideologists in the thousand or so years of history since his time. Politicians in the real world are quick enough to try and claim historical figures for their own to try and disguise or win acclaim for whatever their current causes are, and it would seem credible to me that their wizarding world counterparts could behave in a similar fashion.

For the purposes of assembling my list of first-year pupils for 1991 I used the 'notebook' list information available on Harry Potter Wikipedia as a starting point, and (besides modifying a couple of names) expanded it with some additional characters, both from Britain and further afield. Whilst I appreciate that gaining sufficient fluency in English as a second language at the age of eleven to be able to take lessons could be highly problematic for a lot of children, I did want to add _some_ 'overseas' students to the mix, given the fact that the school _is_ supposed to have an international reputation. (For the purposes of this universe, I assume that the often uncontrolled turnover of defence teachers and the circumstances of the Wizarding War in the 1970's caused serious damage to the reputation of Hogwarts in international circles, from which the school has only just recovered.)

As regards the sorting, generally, those familiar with canon will have noticed differences in placements in this story from canon. This is an alternate universe, where characters may have backgrounds and personalities different from canon counterparts, and the Sorting Hat has been instructed to disregard 'my family has _always_ been in this house' as a reason for a placement (which appears to me to be the principle factor at play in some canon placements).

I'm unclear if the canon Zacharias Smith _is_ related to Helga Hufflepuff ('Hepzibah Smith' does claim such descent, but Smith is a relatively common surname in the UK, and canon Zacharias may not be appropriately related to Hepzibah). As of the time of my writing these notes (October, 2012), I'm undecided on if the Zacharias Smith of the Saint Potter universe _actually_ has such descent; irrespective of whether he does, Zacharias' family at least _claim_ that they are so descended, and this Zacharias arrives at Hogwarts rather bigheaded as a result. Too bigheaded for the Sorting Hat to put up with, in fact – and it's not as if the hat didn't warn _everyone_ with its song that this year if they riled it up they were out.

If Zacharias demonstrates that he's sufficiently penitent, he can appeal to be sorted into a house and admitted to the school when January comes around. (By which point he will be half a year behind in his education, unless his parents get him private tutors.) Presumably any school fees his family have paid 'up front' will be at least partially refunded, and it's by no means guaranteed that he _will_ get in then.

Ron Weasley has simply had a very bad day by the time that his turn comes under the hat and he simply wants to go home. (Although he'd prefer it if the ground opened up and simply swallowed him.) He's gone so far past what was his breaking point that he simply can't bear to be at Hogwarts. I hadn't actually been expecting that he'd ask the hat to go home as an outcome when I set out to write his sorting as background material for this chapter for my own use, but it ended up as what I could see as the only logical result of Ron's sorting. Ron will consequently not be featuring much on the Hogwarts scene in the immediate future, although he may occasionally pop up in supporting fiction. A piece titled 'After the Sorting' regarding Ron's interactions with his father, Arthur Weasley, and his sister, Ginevra, the morning after the sorting is now up.

Moving on to the interaction at the Slytherin table once Sophie has been sorted, Theodore Nott is floundering, due to his expectation of being joined by pure-bloods and half-bloods from 'respectable families' – all of whom have ended up elsewhere. (Pansy Parkinson isn't even _at_ Hogwarts, having gone to Durmstrang in Scandinavia instead.) He doesn't mind Daphne Greengrass or Neville Longbottom too much, but whilst he's been trying to make up his mind over whether and how to approach them Sophie Potter arrives on the scene – and Theodore's absolutely terrified of her because she's The-Girl-Who-Lived. Theodore's father was killed fighting for Voldemort, his mother was a rank-and-file Death Eater who had to pay a fine to stay out of Azkaban when the war ended, and this is a girl who outrageous stories have been in circulation about for years. So he tries ignoring her, in the hope that maybe if he does she won't notice him and blast him to ash in thirty seconds flat or something; well, he tries until the matter gets raised of Ron Weasley having done something which sounds _suicidally stupid_ to Theodore, at which point a horrified fascination draws him into conversation for a few moments. Theodore's reaction to Sarah Studsley is explained by Theodore being aware that a pupil starting at Hogwarts this year – by the name of 'Sarah Studsley' – is here on a scholarship awarded to pure-bloods and half-bloods from 'old' magical families that have fallen into 'reduced circumstances'. He's trying to work out how such a person could grow up on a _muggle council estate_. (Sarah is of course actually a muggle-born, but didn't let _that_ stop her in pursuing scholarship 'supposed' to be for members of old families.)

Daphne Greengrass was thrown initially off-guard by the direction that the sorting was taking with some of the placements, since she too was expecting to see a generally different set of people winding up in Slytherin, but she's a pragmatist (or as much of one as an eleven year old can be) and considerably more socially flexible than Theodore and able to adapt much more quickly.

Regarding Suliman, he's from a bi-lingual household which speaks both English and whatever the local language of his homeland is. His father is a cousin of the current ruler, in an extensive royal family, and although Suliman counts as a prince (and his immediate family is well off) he's some way down the royal pecking order in his homeland. I'm not sufficiently familiar with the Gulf/Indian Ocean region to feel comfortable with assigning a specific (real world) country as being his homeland. He _is_ muggle-born.

The 'master of revels' position the headmaster mentions in his speech is not a teaching position on the staff, but the person who has the responsibility for organising 'weekend activities' for the pupils. Pierre Lefevbre is a Frenchman, and given who the random draw handed him, it's possible he's going to _really_ regret missing out on the chance to choose his opponent in the staff duels that Dumbledore mentioned…

The first week of the Hogwarts school year in this alternate universe differs from canon, in that a completely different timetable from the regular school year (including special events such as the staff duels) is run to allow new pupils the chance to 'bed in' in the school. The castle itself _is_ a highly confusing building after all, with moving staircases, secret passages, and corridors which are open/closed depending on which day it is, there are a lot of new teachers to get to know, basic rules to discover, housemates to make the acquaintance of, and other things to find out. And for those who aren't even brought up in the magical world or with knowledge of it, there's even more to try and take in.

The next chapter is provisionally titled 'House of Salazar' and work is underway, but I'm unclear how long it will be in the writing - _this_ chapter ended up longer than I expected (both in word count and time taken on it). Occasional supplementary pieces are going up now as chapters in 'Initial Impact', and Genevieve de Winter got her own (for now) one-shot 'How (de) Winter came to Hogwarts'. A (for now) one-shot 'Castellan' follows Severus Snape.

Finally, the full house lists for the new first years, as of the first of September, 1991, are as follows:

Gryffindor: 

Bones, Susan

Boot, Terry

Brown, Lavender

Davis, Tracey

Drake, Barnabas

Moon, Lily

Patil, Parvati

Smith, Sally

von Stauffenberg, Friederich

Thomas, Dean

Yaxley, Patricia

Hufflepuff:

Abbott, Hannah

Bulstrode, Millicent

Crabbe, Vincent

Finnigan, Seamus

Goyle, Gregory

Hopkins, Wayne

Jones, Megan

Macmillan, Ernie

Rivers, Oliver

Roper, Sally

Runcorn, Leanne

Ravenclaw:

Abasinger, Deborah

Brocklehurst, Amanda

Corner, Michael

Cornfoot, Stephen

Entwhistle, Kevin

Goldstein, Anthony

Granger, Hermione

Li, Sue

MacDougal, Isobel

MacDougal, Morag

Patil, Padma

Romanov, Nicolas

Takahashi, Reika

Turpin, Lisa

Zabini, Blaise

Slytherin: 

Black, Kara

Finch-Fletchley, Justin

Great White Bear

Greengrass, Daphne

Longbottom, Neville

Malfoy, Draco

Nott, Theodore

Perks, Sally-Anne

Potter, Sophie (Theresa)

al Rashid, Suliman, (His Highness, Prince)

Studsley, Sarah

de Winter, Genevieve

Ejected from school:

Smith, Zacharias

Pupil requested to go home:

Weasley, Ronald


	9. House of Salazar

(updated, Author Notes added, June 1st, 2014)

Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.

Note: Alternate universe crossover warning! This assumes a Harry Potter universe in which The Saint (approximately as depicted in the original Charteris books) existed. I have taken the liberty of imagining The Saint had several sons, one of whom had a daughter who married James Potter (in place of Lily Evans).

Further Note: This is an alternate universe which started to diverge from Harry Potter canon in the first half of the twentieth century, when Simon Templar was prominently at large in the wider world, and any characters with Harry Potter canon counterparts may have personalities and take actions at variance with what they would be and do in canon.

Further Further Note: In the interim between the posting of the previous chapter, and the posting of this one, I have posted a number of pieces of supporting fiction about characters other than Sophie Theresa Potter in the Saint Potter universe.

'After the Sorting' concerns what happened to Ronald Bilius Weasley after he asked to go home.

'How (de) Winter Came to Hogwarts' is about Genevieve de Winter.

'Initial Impact' touches on various characters outside the group of first year Slytherins, and how events at Hogwarts of September the 1st, 1991 have been perceived by or affected them.

'Castellan' is a glance into the life of Hogwarts 'caretaker' Severus Snape on the evening of September 1st, 1991.

'Slughorn' concerns the thoughts and deeds of Horace Slughorn, and to some extent serves a purpose of fleshing out the backgrounds of some of the characters in and around Hogwarts

'Aquinas' Guide to Hogwarts' is a series of excerpts from one in-universe writer's musings and thoughts about the history and buildings of Hogwarts of the Saint Potter universe.

'Little Teddy' is about Theodore Nott.

Given the ever increasing number of stories in my profile, I have posted a community specifically collecting all 'Saint Potter?' related material titled 'Saint Potter'.

Finally, for now, due to a development of background material, over what I had previously assumed from canon, a number of revisions changing details have been made to earlier chapters. I will summarise the principle ones of these in the Author Notes section at the end of this chapter; for now, on with the story though:

* * *

><p><em>In which our heroine and her new housemates discuss several matters, make the acquaintance of their new head of house, Professor Slughorn ,and breakfast the next morning is disturbed by news of events elsewhere in the school. <em>

The headmaster sat down and from the gallery occupied until now by the ghosts (who were now dispersing) there came a loud fanfare, followed by what sounded like an unseen small orchestra playing a piece of music from a war film which involved lots of aeroplanes.

Accompanying the music, a stream of mats, cutlery, plates, and all manner of pots and pans came flying into the hall through the gallery and in through some of the open-arched entrances to the hall, streaming in over the heads of adults and pupils alike to touch down on the tables.

"Okay. Now that _is_ impressive." Sarah said as mats and plates started touching down on the first year Slytherin table. She looked around. "There doesn't seem to be anyone _obvious_ doing anything to make it happen, and I didn't see the headmaster so much as twitch his wand to set this off…"

"It's probably being done by lots of invisible house-elves." Neville said. "They must have spent hours rehearsing it."

The metal of cutlery started to thud and rattle onto the wood of tables. Over on at least one of the Gryffindor tables it looked like impromptu 'sword fights' were breaking out as pupils 'duelled' one another with knives and spoons. A Gryffindor prefect from one of the upper-year tables could be seen getting to his feet, and hastily making his way down the hall to presumably restrain the silliness, or at least to warn those involved against hurting one another.

Larger dishes filled with all sorts of interesting things and which were steaming gently emitting tantalising odours started to land on the first-year Slytherin table.

"It is very…" Genevieve fumbled for the words to express herself "…what I would expect from a school in a castle. In Beauxbatons, where my older sisters and brother attend, they are served their dinner by… those with no magic at all but… born to witch and wizard parents…"

"Squibs?" Daphne supplied helpfully.

"Yes, that is likely the word." Genevieve continued. "Squibs in fashionable uniforms. It is a matter of etiquette that witches and wizards should not have to look at house-elves at the dinner table."

"Do you _see_ any house-elves?" Suliman asked her, his eyes mischievous.

"Well no." Genevieve conceded. "But… Aargh, I have not the words to explain properly, and that wretched Professor McGonagall took my small dictionary with my bag."

Sophie glanced up the hall. Things seemed to have stopped landing on tables now, and all the older pupils seemed to be busying themselves with dishes.

"I think it's 'help yourself'." Sophie said, picking up a serving spoon. "I suppose someone must remove or refill empty dishes."

"I hope there's pudding later." Justin said, going for a serving spoon himself and eyeing the selection of dishes. He sniffed. "Do you suppose that one's a curry?"

"You could always ask it."

The translucent silvery shape of a ghost suddenly loomed over the table. He was dressed in a distinctly old-fashioned manner, even by wizard standards, and his clothes seemed 'stained' in places. There were chains wrapped around his waist, and trailing from his neck.

"Tap it with a wand or spoon, whilst saying 'squeak pot squeak' and it should inform you as to its contents." the ghost continued.

"Err, thank-you, sir." Justin said. "Justin Finch-Fletchley. Might I have the honour of knowing whom I address?"

"I am the Bloody Baron." the ghost snorted. "The ghost charged with responsibility for handling and overseeing all matters spectral pertaining to Slytherin House, and allocated to make sure first year Slytherins survive the welcoming feast. There was a nasty mass-poisoning incident back in 1762 – a third year student, from what were then the colonies, with a grudge, got into the kitchens – since when emergency bezoars are kept to hand, for dispensation by ghosts during the sorting feast."

"Squeak pot squeak." Sally-Anne said rapping a pot near to her with a spoon.

"I contain the finest beef goulash tonight, Miss!" the pot momentarily developed a 'face' and reported in a cheerful tone. It waited expectantly for a few moments, then the face faded away.

"They are also briefed on what dietary observation requirements their contents might meet, in order to be able to answer any queries in that direction." the ghost continued. "When I lived we usually ate what was put before us without thought of complaint or query – save for from the occasional wandering Jewish sorceress ambitious to learn from the founders – but fashions in eating and customs in hospitality turn with the centuries…"

The Bloody Baron, Sophie thought, spoke as if he considered he had seen pretty much everything before, but 'lived' (well, whatever ghosts did – existed?) in the hope of coming upon something novel.

She busied herself with putting food onto her plate.

* * *

><p>Perhaps ten or fifteen minutes into the feast, an argument broke out across the table from Sophie. The Bloody Baron had by now drawn a little way off to afford the first years a sense of <em>some<em> privacy, and so as not to impose his presence too closely on proceedings, which Theodore at least seemed to find unnerving.

"You're a _muggle-born_? But… that's impossible. You couldn't have passed the Phineas Nigellus Black tests if you were one of those."

Sophie had no idea what these 'Phineas Nigellus Black tests' were, but apparently Theodore did, and so did Sarah too, to whom he was speaking.

"Oh I passed them alright, Theodore. I got one of the best marks ever – one hundred and eighty seven percent. They wrote a very nice letter back, accompanying my results."

"You _can't_ be _muggle-born_." Theodore persisted. "I know the test. The society and etiquette section has a question which requires the listing of the person taking the exam's family tree, going back _at least three generations_, and they'd spot anyone who wasn't at least a half-blood from that and make sure they didn't get their hands on money meant for their betters."

"Oooh, that question was _really_ easy, Theodore. I wrote that since this was part of the 'society and etiquette' section, clearly an appropriate response – as according to the _Guide to Etiquette in Polite Society_, written by Juno Black in the fifteenth century – was that it was inappropriate for me, as an underage witch, to disclose such personal information to an anonymous person who might be a social inferior. After all how was I to know that they weren't using a squib or a house-elf to mark the papers? I even got an _apology_ from the foundation in their letter for their making such a blunder with _that_ question, and they wrote that they would be taking steps to ensure that something more tactful and appropriate would be asked of candidates in future years."

"Well you shouldn't have got that scholarship by practically… cheating." Theodore said. "And I can't think what the hat was thinking to put a _muggle-born_ who got here on a scholarship, by either fair means or foul, in _Slytherin_."

"The hat told me, on account of my desire to succeed, that there was only _one_ house which it could put me into, Theodore, and that that was this one." Sarah said. "And it put me here a lot faster than I happened to notice that it placed you here earlier in the evening."

"No, no, that's not what I mean at all." Theodore put his cutlery down and waved his hands around. "It's your being a _muggle-born_ that's all _wrong_. I know Justin is, but his family have been nobility for hundreds of years, and are rich even by wizarding standards. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a squib or two who wanted to marry well in his ancestry. And Suliman… well he's a _prince_ and normal rules simply cease to apply to royalty. But you're a penniless student, here practically as a result of charity, and Slytherin house simply does not _normally_ take in students like you."

"Which means," Sarah narrowed her eyes, "either things are changing around here, Theodore, or that makes me pretty extraordinary. Maybe a bit of _both_."

By this point all the other first year Slytherins had stopped eating and were watching the argument. The Bloody Baron was, too, an expression of curiosity on his face.

"_He_ doesn't object to my being here." Sarah jabbed her knife in the direction of the Baron. "And according to _Hogwarts, a History_, he's been here almost as long as the school."

Theodore looked around the table, apparently for anyone who might agree with what he was saying, and couldn't see anyone.

"There's been an _odd_ sorting this year, I admit." he said. He seemed to be rapidly changing his mind about something, and trying to back down; to sound defiantly 'sorry'. "None of the others here in our year seem to think it strange or to have a problem with your being here, but there _will_ be pupils in the upper years who will _not_ think much of your being in Slytherin. And at the least they will dig out insults. Like 'mudblood'."

"Ah, yes, the 'mudblood' word." Sarah said. "So creative. The big bloke who met us at the station and accompanied us to the castle – Hagrid – he warned me, when he came with my Hogwarts letter, that words like that get thrown around by twats with little imagination who are stuck in their ways. And you know what? I reckon that if I'm a 'mudblood', that makes _them_ 'dustbloods', or maybe 'dry-as-dust-bloods'. I can fight a name-calling war, perfectly happily, Theodore, and I spent the _summer_ thinking up stuff to use. Are _you_ a dustblood, Theodore? Are you someone stuck in ways which are centuries old, repeating insults men and women who at least had some imagination of their own invented? It doesn't sound very _cunning_ or _ambitious_ of you, does it, if you are?"

Theodore looked around the table again and seemed to reach some sort of decision.

"No." he said and swallowed. "There are occasional _good_ things to come out of the muggle world, I will admit, although not anywhere I might get in trouble doing it. _But_ there are six more tables in this hall full of Slytherins whom you potentially need to worry about. They aren't all like that, but some of them really _don't_ like muggle-borns. I heard that one of them got expelled at the end of last year, for plotting to do something really horrible to a _muggle-born_ from another house and her friend."

"He has a point." Daphne said, making a face. "And it's unlikely you'll be able to completely avoid making contact with the upper years at _some_ point, Sarah."

There was a pause. Sophie squashed an urge to groan. She was only halfway through her first _dinner_ and a major crisis was blowing up which was just having everyone else staring blankly.

"So we need a plan or strategy to deal with it, ideally before it gets going." Sophie said, trying _not_ to sigh. It would have been nice to have had a week or two to settle in – even just a day – before something like this came up, but if anyone else around the table was thinking of taking the lead on this they certainly weren't currently saying so. "Now, since they're our housemates, murder as a solution is _probably_ ruled out, and it would take us months to collect enough material to blackmail the rest of the house into not being rough on Sarah, so that means…" The others at the table were staring at her with a variety of confused and astonished expressions on their faces – okay, well slightly _awed_ in the case of Draco. "Look, my great-grandfather was Simon Templar." Sophie said, trying to explain herself. "Well, _one_ of my great-grandfathers, obviously. And as his descendent I would be an embarrassment if I just sat around whilst the ungodly prepared for mischief without doing anything."

"But _blackmail_? _Murder_?" Sally-Anne almost squeaked.

"Oh. I was joking. Mostly. Obviously they're impracticable, not least because we _are_ just first years and probably couldn't get away with them. There are some really rather good aurors out there, you know…"

Sophie trailed off, painfully aware that a silence seemed to have fallen on the table. In trying to reassure them, she seemed to have made things worse. Theodore in particular had a look of horrified fascination on his face, which was almost the polar opposite of Draco who looked as if he'd died and gone to heaven. Genevieve was blinking rapidly. Sarah was frowning and looked thoughtful. And the others – well, they were somewhere in between but she seemed to have made more of an _impression_ than she'd expected…

It was the whole stupid Girl-Who-Lived thing again. They were almost certainly taking her banter, whilst she organised her thoughts and searched for a workable solution, seriously. Blackmail and murder for bad guys _were_ perfectly acceptable solutions to apply to _truly_ bad guys in Sophie's view, but probably not appropriate for use on underage witches and wizards – okay, well probably not outright _murder_, and _in any case_ they were a bit out of Sophie's experience as far as _actual ability to implement_ went right now.

"We need to do _something_." Sophie sighed, trying not to sound like she was finishing on a lame note, and (she hoped) just about managing it. "At this point I'm happy if anyone else wants to propose a solution that doesn't involve anything probably illegal."

"What about a formal alliance of mutual protection which encompasses everyone currently sitting at this table?" Theodore rapidly proposed, practically firing this out in one breath. "I think I have _just_ how to word such a document in a book I have in my trunk, and if not I could find one in the library here, I'm sure, very soon…"

Given the way he'd just been looking at her, Sophie was inclined to think that Theodore was worried about what _she_ might do to him if he wasn't on 'the same team' as her s soon as possible.

"No, no, no!" Daphne said stubbornly. "My parents drilled me quite thoroughly, Theodore, before sending me to Hogwarts, _never_ to agree with any sincerity to anything which involves the word 'alliance', until I'm at least twenty-one. They said until I'm older and more experienced I shouldn't sign up to _anything_ like that."

"Well we could call it something else." Theodore offered.

"They said don't sign _anything_ like that – no matter what it's called."

Sophie tried not to look as dejected as she felt, as she watched Daphne and Theodore bickering. Theodore was undoubtedly very clever, but he scared easily – especially if Sophie was involved it was starting to look like – and he wanted some sort of agreement nailed down where he could plan ahead and use his brains to try and protect himself. Apparently he hadn't learnt yet that plans didn't always work. Daphne was refusing to agree to _anything_ where conditions were laid down and defined in any kind of way she might later be, in her opinion, unreasonably constrained by. Justin, Sally-Anne, and Kara were soon all joining in with their own opinions.

Sophie glanced at Neville, feeling completely out of her depth here, and doubtful of the value of asserting her own 'authority' again to bang heads together in case that made things even worse.

Neville grimaced, and thumped the table with his fist to get attention.

"Oi! You lot! I'm a Longbottom. As a hereditary privilege of my family I _could_ call a dragon hunt."

"Explain." Great White Bear said, as a variety of puzzled and confused faces turned in Neville's direction.

Sophie vaguely remembered seeing something mentioned in one of the books on ancient 'aristocratic' families about the Longbottom family and dragon hunts – something about how in the thirteenth century they'd called one of the last great hunts to get wild dragons in Britain firmly under control, since which wild dragons had never really been an 'issue' in Britain.

"I can call for a band of witches and wizards to stand by me with their wands through thick and thin to exterminate any dragons who wander into a particular area for a duration of 'a season' – which I decide as being some time lasting not more than eleven months from the moment of the call. We also stand firm 'in mutual support' of one another, against 'any other agreed external threats'." Neville explained.

"I don't think I want to go chasing after any dragons." Sally-Anne said, looking worried.

"If I choose the area as being 'Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and its grounds', what are the chances of us actually running _into_ any?" Neville replied. "In fact I'm pretty sure that back in the sixteenth century there was a Longbottom at Hogwarts sorted into Ravenclaw who did just that in his third and fourth years for some reason. Only a lot of Longbottoms since then have been Gryffindors, and felt it sort of 'dishonourable' to call a hunt without going after any dragons or other physical threats."

"You can actually simply do something like this?" Theodore frowned. "Without having to check with any adults or anything, I mean?"

"I'm the only Longbottom by birth left in the senior line." Neville swallowed but set his lips firmly, a determined look on his face. "I'm old enough to have a wand and I attend Hogwarts. There's nobody I _have_ to consult with on this. My gran would probably _like_ to discuss it with me, but she'd understand if I did it without checking, in a crisis."

"Well, I suppose that it _might_ work." Theodore said dubiously. "You're a pure-blood, from a sort-of-respected family, and calling a dragon hunt is _old_ and _very traditional_. The biggest bigots in Slytherin couldn't deny your right to call a dragon hunt, or interfere with anyone going along with you, without going against a lot of other things that they hold at _least_ as dear as their own rights to be nasty to muggle-borns. Actually, the more I think about it, the more it sounds workable. I'd want to read up on it before agreeing to join in with anything like it of course, but I think I've got something in some of the books in my trunk…"

"Dragon hunt?" said Daphne. "It sounds crazy, but if it doesn't involve _signing_ anything, and it's not going to last more than a year, I might join in."

There was some further discussion of the proposed hunt after that, but otherwise the rest of dinner passed relatively uneventfully after that, to Sophie's relief.

* * *

><p>The Bloody Baron had occasionally glanced at the clock at the far end of the hall, as the feast progressed, and as the hands swept around his glances seemed to grow more frequent. Finally he announced:<p>

"Five minutes to finish, and then you _will_ be going down to the Slytherin quarters to meet the current head of Slytherin house, and then to retire to bed for the night." And then he swept off up the hall, to converse with one of the men sitting at the high table, seated several places to the headmaster's right.

This news prompted a hasty rush of pudding scoffing at the first year Slytherin table.

Four minutes after the Baron's departure, he turned and came back down the hall, collecting one of the pupils from the fifth year Slytherin table as he came, whom Sophie recognised as the prefect Percy Weasley. Percy looked somewhat awed to be accompanying the Baron right now.

Over on the Ravenclaw line of tables, moves seemed to be afoot too, with a couple of prefects heading for their respective first year table. Nothing much seemed to be happening on the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff rows.

There was a clatter and, hastily wiping the last of her meal from her face, the female prefect from the fifth year Slytherin table came hurrying down the hall to catch up with Percy and the Baron who were now waiting by the first year table.

"Three minutes, Miss Featherstone, means just that." the Baron said severely to her, then turned to address the first year Slytherin pupils. "These are Mr. Percy Weasley and Miss Enid Featherstone, the current fifth year Slytherin prefects. They will accompany us to the dungeons. Lead off, please, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Featherstone and I shall bring up the rear."

"May we take food with us to eat later, sir?" Justin asked the Baron, eyeing a fruit-bowl as he got to his feet.

"If it's something which needs no platter, dish, nor other piece of tableware to contain or transport it, by all means, yes." the Baron said. "But we are leaving _now_."

There were a number of last minute grabs for the fruit-bowl and crackers from the cheeseboards, as they set off. Over at the Ravenclaw table, the first years were moving too. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years showed no signs of going anywhere.

* * *

><p>Since there was a prefect in the lead, who knew where he was going, Sophie fell in immediately behind him as they headed off through the castle, so she could have as clear a view forwards of where they were going as possible.<p>

Percy had drawn and twirled his wand as they left the hall, producing a burning silver-green light which swirled and bobbed around the tip. The reason for this became almost immediately apparent as they turned sharply off a well-lit hallway onto a spiral staircase which plunged steeply downwards with only the very occasional torch for illumination.

"Mind your footing here. Some of the steps are intentionally uneven." Percy announced, taking care himself to set his free-hand to hold onto a rough rope handrail. Sophie could hear nervous whispers behind her from some of the others, but wasn't much bothered herself by the suddenly more sombre surroundings – although she _was_ careful with how she placed her feet. She managed not to be thrown off by one step which was over an inch higher than the others, although she heard several of those behind her gasp and clutch for the rope as they reached that point.

They went down past several turnings off the staircase, and emerged from another one onto a long hall.

"The dungeons," Percy continued, as they made their way onwards, his voice echoing slightly, "are in may places one of the most modern and up-to-date parts of the physical structure of Hogwarts. The famous benefactor of Hogwarts, Regulus Black, was in Slytherin during his time here, and he committed a not immodest sum to refurnishing and reorganising the dungeons, once he was of age. His other great projects were establishing funding for approved activities, and the still ongoing construction and fitting-out of glasshouses which we hope will some day represent the best equipped and stocked repositories of magical plants outside of the tropics."

"That was my father." Sophie heard Kara say somewhere behind her with a definite note of pride in her voice to someone else.

"The Slytherin quarters are placed down here in the dungeons." Percy continued. "There are several ways _out_ of them, but on any given day the one which also serves as a way _in_ for general traffic and the means of accessing it varies. Anyone trying to get in the _wrong_ way will often find themselves trapped or subject to a humorous jinx. Prefects post a notice every morning on one of the corkboards in the Slytherin common-room with information about which is the day's way into Slytherin for general use. The prefects and head of house have additional options available, of course, as do the castle-elves, castle ghosts, and Mr. Snape."

He paused in what was a well-lit wooden panelled section of the current hallway, and extinguished the light on his wand. He was standing by what looked like a wooden door, which lacked a keyhole or handle.

"Tonight, this is the 'official' entrance to Slytherin, and to keep things simple the password is 'Alohomora' which is also the incantation element of a normal unlocking charm." Percy said as the others gathered around him. "You don't make the wand movements for an unlocking charm, to get in, but you _do_ need to tap the wood with your wand as you say each syllable. If any of you would like to give it a try?"

Sally-Anne Perks was like a bolt of greased lightning, shooting to the front and whipping her wand enthusiastically out of a pocket to give it a go, whilst Sophie was still thinking about it.

"'Alohomora!'" Sally-Anne said breathlessly.

There was a click and a creak, and the door swung outwards, to reveal a brightly lit passageway with gleaming brass lanterns on the walls behind it.

"Perhaps you should all give it a go." the Baron said, a curious gleam in his eyes.

Percy looked surprised at this, but then nodded and pushed the door shut, and one by one they all had a go at opening the door.

Theodore _sneezed_ in the middle of his first go "Al_hoo_homora" and there was a sharp crack, a sizzle of sparks, and suddenly his hair was standing on end and had gone purple.

"And _that_," said the Baron, "is an example of what might happen when one gets it wrong. Bravo, Mr. Nott, for assisting in this invaluable lesson. If you would put him right, Prefect Weasley?"

Percy flicked his wand and cancelled the jinx with a quick '_finite_'.

"Another go, Mr. Nott!" the Baron called.

This time, Theodore got it right, and the door opened. The Baron applauded, and given the _meaningful_ look he cast around the others followed suit.

* * *

><p>Once they had all had a turn with the door, they actually went through it, down the short passage beyond, up a tight spiral staircase, and finally emerged into what Percy dramatically announced to be:<p>

"The Slytherin common room!"

It was a wide circular chamber, panelled with dark wood, and with a number of spiral staircases let into the wall in various places. There were also nine wooden doors ranged around the walls, each with a plaque on, and a huge marble fireplace let into it at another point with a log fire currently burning in it. Here and there stone columns carved in the shape of men or women in ancient dress spanned the distance between floor and a ceiling decorated with elaborately patterned white stucco. The floor itself was covered with a sea of thick-pile emerald green carpet, with all manner of chairs, tables, and sofas dotted around it, apart from one long stretch with a low brass rail running around it where a long straight strip of what liked green baize cloth served as a floor covering instead, with occasional scorch marks on it and a circle at each end.

Other furnishings and decorations included several suits of plate armour (complete with swords) arranged on display stands, half a dozen large bookcases well furnished with books, a pool-table, a dartboard, and a number of metal 'jousting' shields on the walls enamelled with a mixture of the crests of _all_ the Hogwarts houses. A ticking sound emanated from a pendulum wall clock in an otherwise polished walnut case that featured the Black family's crest, and in another place in the common room a large grandfather clock stood against a pillar. By the sound of the ticking, there was at least one other clock somewhere in the room, too, currently out of Sophie's sight.

There was an upright piano, somewhat elderly if the indentations and coloration of the wax was anything to judge by, pushed up against the wall in one place. It was accompanied by a 'piano stool' covered with a plum and green-toned seat cushion that looked like it had seen better days.

There was a several yards long cork noticeboard fixed to one section of the wall with the Slytherin crest above it, accompanied in large gold letters by the words '_Keep it Simple_'. There were a few sheets of paper currently affixed to the noticeboard.

Hanging above the mantelpiece was the only painting in the room – a very old looking landscape picture of somewhere with a lot of reeds and open water, currently devoid of figures.

The room in general was lit by a number of crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling which, to all intents and purposes, appeared to be fitted with numerous electric light-bulbs. Sophie would have liked a closer look at them to see if they _were_ actually electric, or some magical imitation

And standing by the fireplace, a sherry-glass full of some amber liquid in one hand, a wand in the other, and a contemplative look upon his face, was a man.

* * *

><p>He was a somewhat portly and balding gentleman, with a trim of silvery hair clinging to the sides and back of the dome of his head. Beneath lime green eyes he had an impressive silvery walrus moustache, and as the group approached, his expression shifted to one which was a curious mixture of jovial and deadly serious. He was wearing plum-toned trousers and a matching waistcoat over a flawless white shirt, and he had a loosely arranged (likely silk, by the look of it) green cravat around his throat. Sophie was sure he'd been in the great hall seated at the 'high table' several places away from the headmaster (or if not then someone who looked awfully like him had), where he had figured as one of the most stylishly dressed of the adults present.<p>

The first years, Professor." the Baron said to the man by the fireplace.

"Ah, thank-you, Baron, thank-you, prefects Weasley and Featherstone." the man by the fireplace said. "I'll take over from here."

The Baron nodded, and then in a silvery puff was simply *gone* as if he'd never been there. Sophie blinked, wondering if the ghost had turned invisible or simply dematerialised altogether to go somewhere else?

The man by the fireplace ran a shrewd gaze over the first years then gestured.

"Please, gather round, and sit down." he flourished his wand like a conductor's baton, indicating various chairs and settees close to the fire. "Make yourselves comfortable." His tone of voice was genial. "We're running a little late tonight what with one thing and another, but I'll try to get what I can in right now, and adjust the schedule for tomorrow as far as I can. Can't do anything about the weather…"

The first years and prefects arranged themselves as indicated, Sophie and her fellow first years eyeing the man with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Once they were so seated, the man 'materialised' a large comfortable armchair for himself next to the fire, into which he sank, _feigning_ to take a sip from his glass as he did so, before setting it on a conveniently to hand little side table, along with his wand.

"Now then:" the man continued in a solemn tone of voice. "I am Professor Slughorn and I am the head of Slytherin, which means that I am your new head of house. You, of course, are my new first years, and whilst I would at this point usually deliver a long and annually repeated speech to you," at this point there was a brief musical flourish, "it is quite clear to me that the times, they are a-changin'. So tonight there will be something a little more impromptu."

Sophie blinked as did everyone else in the room, at the way the Professor had whipped out a small mouth-organ from some pocket and played a quick riff on it. He was now tucking it away again, with a slight chuckle. Even the prefects seemed taken aback by this particular demonstration.

"Not Dylan fans?" the professor looked around at them all, and then sighed, shaking his head mournfully. "Never mind. On to business: I am, as I said, the head of Slytherin. I'm expected to say something about not breaking the school rules, and paying respect to fellow pupils, as far as is reasonable, so consider that said; also remember that if you _do_ have a problem with your studies, other pupils, or – Merlin forbid – even staff, remember that we teachers are being _paid_ to instruct and assist you, and if you can't handle something yourself, there should be _some_ responsible adult around the school whom you can go to for help. I won't pretend that we'll always be able to fix something or sort something out – we're not all-powerful, or all-wise, no matter how much some of us might enjoy pretending ourselves to be just that at times –" he gave another little chuckle here, "but if you don't ask, you won't find out. Of course, besides we teachers, there is Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary, Rubeus Hagrid out in the grounds, and even as a last resort in a truly dire situation, Mr. Snape the school caretaker, any of whom may be able to help you out. I sincerely hope, though, that your time at Hogwarts will be in general sufficiently lacking in unpleasantness that you will seldom have need to call upon us for reasons other than to with your education."

He paused here to genuinely sip from his glass for a moment whilst taking in for a moment how his words so far had been received. Sophie's own impression of him was of a man putting on a performance, but whether it was genuine or slightly faked in any intentions expressed was quite beyond her. This man was certainly _good_ with social situations though.

"Now: on to house matters. This," Professor Slughorn resumed, waving a hand about airily, "is the Slytherin common room, and over there," he indicated the corkboards on the wall, "are the house noticeboards. Important information and other documents will be posted there, including such details as the daily entry methods into the quarters of Slytherin house, emergency changes to classes when members of staff are unexpectedly taken ill or otherwise indisposed, and exam timetables. Members of Slytherin house are expected to be responsible enough to keep themselves abreast of any and all important news posted on the boards. If you want to put up a notice up on the boards of any kind yourself, I would recommend you ask a prefect to go over your notice for you, to check the spelling and presentation are of a suitable standard; and do _not_ interfere with any notices that are not your own, except in some manner that the notice invites – for example you _may_ put your name on a sign-up sheet for weekend activities. Undue interference constitutes a breach of school rules, and the last Slytherin pupil to do so, Mr. Caius Eachleigh, volunteered himself to spend a weekend last year polishing brass and wood, helping clean the castle house-elves' field-guns, by doing so." At this point a clock somewhere in the room chimed and the Professor grimaced. "And time is fast running out on this part of our evening. So I will take a few questions, if you have any, but as a responsible head of house I should soon be moving to show you to the dormitories and reintroduce you to your luggage, so you can get to bed. There is a house meeting here in the common room tomorrow morning, at quarter to nine. I like to get the year going with a little talk and magic-lantern show for the whole house, prior to giving notices and announcements and new first years introducing themselves to the house. So: Questions?" He looked about inquisitively.

"Introduce ourselves to the house, sir?" Justin enquired. "What does that involve?"

"That, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, involves the first years standing up one at a time, in the common-room, in front of the whole house, giving their name, and mentioning a few facts about themselves if they feel like it. It's a sort of Slytherin 'earning your tie' tradition. The Gryffindor first-years have to face a boggart, Professor Flitwick usually brings in a sphinx to test his new Ravenclaws, and Professor Sprout generally has some sort of 'team game' for her new first-years. Some people like to make light of what I ask Slytherin first years to do, by comparison, but it takes a _lot_ to stand up and say 'hello' to a room full of people all older than you, all looking at you."

* * *

><p>Various questions and answers went back and forth, whilst Sophie did her best to pay attention. There was a question about mealtimes from Sarah (which also resulted in an offer by prefect Percy Weasley to show the first years to and from breakfast tomorrow morning), there were questions about school rules (including curfew times for first years), weekend activities, the possibilities of visits by parents, the need to send a message to her mother on a matter of 'urgent family business' by Kara (Professor Slughorn hmmed and hahhed about that – especially when Kara said floo was not an option – as a result of which prefect Enid Featherstone was assigned to escort her to send her owl later) and several other things. Sophie noticed that Professor Slughorn seemed familiar with all their names, so must have been paying close attention during the sorting or something and apparently had a pretty good memory. He did enquire, though, if Suliman wished to be addressed by his title by him and if Genevieve preferred to be addressed as 'mademoiselle de Winter' or 'Miss de Winter'? (Suliman did not, Genevieve preferred 'mademoiselle'.) At one point there was an interruption when a trio of figures – consisting of a man and two women in distinctly old-fashioned clothes – meandered into the picture above the fire, singing loudly, and apparently very drunk (if it was possible for a picture-person to be drunk). After a minute or two, and some very stern words from Professor Slughorn, they went quiet (apart from the occasional giggle) sprawling on the ground in the picture on the man's red and gold cloak. Professor Slughorn apologised for the disturbance, and proceedings resumed for a while, before Professor Slughorn apparently decided that it was now too late for any further questions.<p>

"On to the dormitories!" he said, rising from his armchair, and making it disappear with a flick of his wand. "If you would follow me…"

He led the way across to one of the doors off the room, tapped his wand to the previously blank plaque on this particular door, and it changed to read _First Years_.

"For the next seven years these will be the quarters assigned to your year group.", the Professor explained, pulling the door open. "Obviously at the start of each year, the door plaque will be updated as you move up through the school. There's a spell on this door, by way, which will limit the ability of other pupils in the school to intrude, without one of you opening the door for them. Prefects excepted, of course."

* * *

><p>On the other side of the door was a long hallway perhaps a couple of yards wide. The only notable features other than the flagstoned floor were a door set into each of the side walls on either side, about a third of the way down, and a fireplace at the far end of the hallway with an elaborate metal grill completely screening off the hearth (currently with no fire lit anyway). Light in here came from arrangements of glowing crystals affixed against small mirrors in a series along the ceiling. The first years' various trunks and other luggage were piled up on the floor in the middle of the hall between the two doors, along with several caged owls (including Neville's) and a red and green parrot attached by a silver chain around one leg to a bird-perch on which it stood.<p>

"Boys in the rooms off the corridor that side." the professor waved to the door on the left. "Girls in the rooms off the corridor that side." he waved to the one on the right. "It is important to note that for lots of reasons to do with traditions and courtesies of the magical world, it is generally regarded as highly improper for most males to be in a lady's room. Consequently there are certain protective measures in all the dormitories here at Hogwarts, varying by house. Here in Slytherin, should any interloper intrude upon a girl's bedroom, or one of the bathrooms on that side of a dormitory, a transfiguration effect is immediately applied. Male members of staff likewise may not enter such rooms, unless accompanied by and chaperoned by a female member of staff, unless a state of emergency is prevalent. As head of Slytherin, I can declare an emergency here, if I consider it necessary, but doing so will automatically alert the headmaster, the deputy headmistress, the infirmary, and the caretaker's office, and someone will turn up to check what's going on. Here in Slytherin, we do our best to ensure that members of the other sex do not trespass in the sanctuary of our girls' boudoirs. One side-effect though, is that the transfiguration magic also affects animals, so if any of you ladies have a male owl or other pet which you wish to keep in your room with you, I will have to send for the deputy headmistress to key the wards to not affect said pets." He pulled a bundle of papers out of a pocket, flicked through them, and with a flourish handed one to Genevieve. "A summary of what I just explained translated into your own language, in case it was too technical for your vocabulary." He tucked the rest away.

Genevieve frowned and started reading through the document he had just handed her. Professor Slughorn turned back to the others, and directed his gaze at Sophie.

"I regret to say, Miss Potter, that I have had a note from the deputy headmistress, that your trunk was supposed to be one of those searched for contraband items. The security of the locks on your trunk was beyond her ability to open without risk of damage to the contents, and so she has requested that you open your trunk for me, so that I can inspect it for any items which you should not have. I apologise for the inconvenience, but the deputy headmistress was quite clear that she does not believe any kind of special exemption can be made from the search on the basis of who your are, as she feels that would set a bad precedent."

"I'm perfectly happy for you to check the contents here and now." Sophie said. "There _shouldn't_ be anything in my trunk against the school rules right now."

* * *

><p>"Will your owl be okay?" Daphne asked Kara, whilst Professor Slughorn was inspecting the contents of Sophie's trunk. "With the transfiguration thing?"<p>

"Ethelburga's a girl-owl, anyway." Kara shrugged.

Kara was the only girl to actually have a pet or owl with her so far in their year.

"Well, everything seems to be in order there, Miss Potter." Professor Slughorn beamed, finally dropping the lid and straightening up from Sophie's trunk. "Your keys." he returned them.

* * *

><p>Through the door for girls, there was a long corridor, which ran parallel to the hallway, with doors at regular intervals with old fashioned keys in the lock on the opposite side from the hallway. There were more of the mirror-and-crystal arrangements on the ceiling to provide light.<p>

"Pick whichever room you want." Enid Featherstone casually waved a hand to the row of doors. "Bathroom facilities are at the far end." She pointed to an arch at the end of the corridor opposite to that that the common room entrance occupied in the hallway outside. "We have very good bathrooms, which have the best water-pressure, being down here in the dungeons. The rooms for pupils themselves are actually somewhat spartanly furnished, at least now; Professor Slughorn will have more to say about that later this week. The first week of term has a special timetable arranged of activities for first years, and one of the ones for Slytherin pupils involves pupils' rooms. By the end of the week you should have only the key to the room which you've settled on occupying. The castle house-elves will be along at that point to retrieve the others, and put name plaques on your doors. Oh: and no nicking or use of furniture from rooms which currently aren't occupied."

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><p>Although Sophie was impressed that the doors to all the rooms seemed to have goblin-locks, it was in vain that she searched for a room which actually had a <em>window<em>. Sophie being down here in the dungeons was going to be a problem for her spider-plant, Herbert, it looked like…

As to the actual rooms, they were, as Enid (now departed with Kara who had scribbled whatever mysterious note she intended to send by owl) had said, not exactly the height of luxury. They actually had a lot of space, but as far as furnishings went, they were somewhat sparsely furnished, basically identical, boxes. Each had a metal 'camp bed' with basic mattress, pillow, and sheets, a basic wardrobe, a very plain desk (although with several slots for ink-bottles) and accompanying chair, a small mirror on one wall, and a very basic small stove built into the opposite wall to the door. Each room also contained a simple clockwork alarm-clock, (initially perched on the desk) and a couple of wicker laundry baskets, labelled 'underwear' and 'other garments' and a small bin. There was no indication of how to operate the stove, and the only provided source of illumination in any room – a rather plain looking imitation oil lamp – had a sticker affixed to the side noting that it should be patted on the side by hand, or tapped with a wand, to turn either on or off.

The floors of the rooms were uncarpeted flagstones, and the walls and ceilings were painted plain white.

From Enid's hints, maybe at some point there was an opportunity offered to pick more and/or better furniture?

Whilst the other girls were squabbling over the rooms closest to the bathrooms, Sophie selected the room closest to the door back out into the hallway, for now, and proceeded to haul her trunk, bag, and (for now) Herbert into that one. She started to write a letter to her grandfather, but tiredness was catching up with her, so she left it half done, collected some bath things, and headed up the corridor. Daphne and Genevieve seemed to be involved in all the fun of a hair-pulling contest by now, squealing as they did so, over who got the second-closest room to the bathrooms. Sophie found Sarah already in the bathrooms, brushing her teeth.

"I took the fifth room down." Sarah shrugged. "It's not worth it picking a fight over this. Everyone agreed Kara could have the closest to the bathroom, being the most important, and Sally-Anne's settled for the fourth, but the French girl and Daphne have a difference of opinion about who should have the second. I expect if they're still at it when prefect Featherstone gets back with Kara, she'll sort them out."

The bathrooms were certainly very nice, and a bit like those of a _very_ posh hotel – with green-veined marble everywhere, gleaming silver taps and *huge* silver-framed mirrors conveniently placed over the washbasins, and all meticulously spick and span. There were seven baths in total in the bathroom, each in its own little room, and Sophie was able to shampoo her hair and have a long, luxurious, soak in a gorgeously hot bath, before heading back to her room. There was no sign of anyone in the corridor now – Daphne and Genevieve must have somehow settled on which rooms to have for now.

Sophie stared at the letter to her grandfather for a bit, whilst her hair finished drying, and made a few changes to what she had written so far, before retiring to bed for the night.

* * *

><p>"Miss Potter. You left your parrot in the hall last night." Percy greeted Sophie somewhat stiffly as she emerged into the hallway the next morning. It looked like she was the first of the first-years to emerge to wait to be escorted to breakfast. Nobody had said anything last night about how to dress this morning – maybe it would have been a good thing to ask a question about it – but Sophie had reasoned that since the term was now underway that school uniform was appropriate for breakfast. At worst she'd look slightly swotty, if casual dress turned out to be acceptable. Percy Weasley was certainly in school robes.<p>

Sophie looked at where the luggage had been assembled last night, and noted that the parrot did indeed still seem to be there.

"I don't have a parrot." Sophie said. "I don't have _any_ pet. Well not unless you count non-magical pot-plants as pets."

"The label on the parrot's stand quite distinctly has your name on it." Percy insisted.

"I don't know; maybe it's a present from someone, or a joke, but I do not have a parrot." Sophie said quite firmly. "Nor do I want one."

Percy stared at her for a few moments.

"Well come and have a look at it, and tell me if you at least recognise the writing on the label."

Sophie dutifully did so, but did not. The parrot eyed her and prefect Weasley balefully, but said nothing.

"Well it can't be dangerous, otherwise the house-elves wouldn't have let it up to the school, but this is most irregular." Percy said, clearly annoyed by the episode. "I shall have to inform Professor Slughorn of this."

Gradually the others arrived in the hallway. Draco and Neville were apparently engaged in some discussion about Neville's 'dragon hunt' idea, although both broke it off briefly to say 'hi' to Sophie.

When Genevieve appeared she looked sulky – and her expression turned thunderous when she saw Sophie.

"How do you _do that_?" she demanded of Sophie. "Look so nice in," her scowl deepened, "_these_?" she gestured at her own school robes.

Sophie had taken some care over making herself ready this morning, since there was going to be the whole introduction-to-the-house business after breakfast, but not an excessive amount.

"It's a family thing." Sophie said.

"You are part-veela?" Genevieve frowned.

"No, I'm part-Saint." Sophie said, really not wanting to even start to go into an explanation with someone who looked like she was looking for a fight right now.

Fortunately, at this moment Daphne showed up, and immediately required Genevieve's attention. From the murderous look the French girl gave Daphne, it seemed likely that the dispute of last night over the room second-closest to the bathroom on the girl's corridor had _not_ gone in Genevieve's favour.

Theodore Nott emerged into the hallway from the door at the end, back into the Slytherin common room – apparently he had been up and about already. He headed for Neville and Draco and immediately joined in their discussion about the prospective 'dragon hunt'. It seemed like he must have been talking to someone from one of the older years.

Eventually (Genevieve and Daphne likely only kept from more than sideways glares at one another by the presence of a prefect) they were all assembled.

"Right! Off to breakfast!" Percy said.

* * *

><p>There were a number of Slytherin pupils in the common room, this morning, lounging around on chairs or lurking surreptitiously in corners, and a quiet hubbub of conversation which muted slightly as Percy led the first years through the room, a slightly proud expression on his face.<p>

"Since we're outward bound, we can use the most direct route available to pupils between the great hall and Slytherins' quarters." Percy said, making for a different staircase to that by which they had entered the previous night. "In case you haven't checked the corkboard, today the official way into Slytherin is past the Grey Gargoyle, and the door opens by whispering 'Roll out the barrel' into its left ear." He frowned slightly. "I'll show you the gargoyle, obviously, on the way back from breakfast…"

The route that they took to the great hall certainly seemed a _bit_ shorter than what Sophie remembered of their trip in the opposite direction of the previous night. This one involved only a short spiral staircase up, a minute or so along a corridor, out through a secret door onto a landing, and then another spiral staircase straight up which actually opened into the hall itself, in one corner at the 'high table' end of the hall.

There was only a modest showing of other pupils who'd turned up for breakfast so far. Practically the entire complement of the seventh year Slytherin table seemed to be here, with the senior Slytherin pupils apparently gathered together for some reason to dine early and perhaps to plot something, and there were a handful of pupils scattered across the Ravenclaw tables, but other than a couple of teachers at the high table and a lone pupil at the third year Gryffindor table, that was otherwise it.

The first year Slytherin table had been set for thirteen. The first year Slytherins and Percy Weasley seated themselves, and moments later dishes began to materialise – presumably by house elf magic. Dramatic entries of food dishes flying in in massed formation was apparently something saved for big occasions.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes into breakfast the occasional paper dart began to zoom into the hall, from the main archway in the end wall behind the high table. These darts seemed to be making their way generally to the high table, where they drew frowns from the members of staff seated there receiving them, or to the seventh year Slytherin table.<p>

Then one found its way down the hall to Percy Weasley, who expertly snatched it out of the air, as it circled round his head, and unfolded it. It had writing on it, and was apparently a note or memorandum of some kind.

Percy scanned it rapidly, blinked, and then grimaced.

"Apparently there's a riot going on in Hufflepuff at the moment." he said to the rest of the Slytherin first-year table. "The head-girl's busy laying down the law, and Professor Sprout has turned up and she's absolutely furious. Some sort of argument started between the first years, and then everyone was taking sides and refusing to back down. Massed detentions are expected. Prefects of other houses are advised to spread the word that Hufflepuffs may be a bit tetchy for the rest of the day."

"A _riot_?" Neville frowned. "I thought Hufflepuff was supposed to be the _friendly_ house."

"Hufflepuffs don't back down, when stirred up." Percy said. "Once they get going down in 'The Badger Sett' they simply don't let go. But usually they stand united with one another."

"I hope Ernie's going to be okay." Neville voiced a concern. "He's a friend of mine, who was sorted into Hufflepuff last night." he clarified in response to several glances from around the table. "Ernie Macmillan."

"Maybe you can get an account from him of what happened." Percy said.

Gradually, as breakfast proceeded, more pupils started to arrive in the hall. The Slytherin tables seemed to be filling up the fastest, the Slytherins arriving in little knots, glancing around, and generally deep in conversation with one another. Although many were looking at the currently empty Hufflepuff tables, word of something affecting Hufflepuffs apparently having reached more than just the great hall, more than occasional _meaningful_ glances were cast by the older Slytherins in the direction of the first year Slytherin table. Sophie hoped that that didn't portend any particular trouble.

What Hufflepuffs arrived, when they finally started to show up, seemed to be for the most part absolutely drenched – and often looking somewhat dazed and sporting multiple fresh bruises.

Several more teachers showed up at the high table, including the headmaster – the latter looking particularly preoccupied. Sophie had little doubt that if a riot in Hufflepuff was something as unusual as Percy had seemed to indicate that it must be weighing heavily on the mind of the headmaster.

The head-girl swept into the hall looking absolutely _livid_, and headed for the high table where she engaged in a conversation with the headmaster. Her disgust at what had been going on amongst her housemates was crystal clear, and whilst most Hufflepuffs were damp, whisps of either steam or smoke seemed to be occasionally coming off Nymphadora Black's robes.

Breakfast went on.

The Hogwarts kitchen staff, Sophie had to admit, were _almost_ as good cooks when it came to breakfast as her grandfather.

* * *

><p>Author Notes: (Subject to updates)<p>

Originally I intended this chapter to encompass slightly more of the morning after the sorting, but having imposed a deadline for posting it, and already taken over a year in the writing I considered posting more essential than a further page or two of narrative, and the spreading of the news of the massive punch-up in Hufflepuff house a suitable moment on which to finish. The text is still a bit rough and ready in places, and at least some minor revisions to add details and carry out corrections are likely, but at least this chapter is now (finally) out.

* * *

><p>Regarding potentially significant revisions made of details in earlier chapters since 'Welcome to Hogwarts was first posted:<p>

* The description of Peter Pettigrew's fate, given to Sophie and her grandfather in the 'Diagon Alley' chapter has been adjusted to remove suggestions of a 'battle' as having taken place. What happened was rather more one-sided than that.

* Erica Snape's mention in the 'Hogwarts Express' chapter of having been retrieved from the Whomping Willow by Eleanor has been adjusted to a similar rescue from an 'ambush date palm' in the Hogwarts glasshouses. By that date in the Saint Potter universe the Whomping Willow was gone from the Hogwarts grounds.

* Theodore Nott's depiction in the 'Welcome to Hogwarts' chapter has been revised to reflect a more nervous, less confident, boy.

* Finally, previous references to the third-floor corridor plus subsection as being an area for pupils to keep out of have been replaced with mentions of 'the old defence suite in the Empire Wing'. (One mostly disused section of the Saint Potter universe Hogwarts is named 'The Empire Wing'.)

* * *

><p>As mentioned in some of the supporting material, (most specifically, as of June 2014, the notes of the 'Azkaban' chapter of 'Initial Impact') Hogwarts in the Saint Potter universe charges school fees. The fees are at a sufficient level that, coming from the impoverished background that she does, it would be impossible for a pupil such as Sarah Studsley to attend Hogwarts without any kind of scholarship.<p>

The 'Phineas Nigellus Black' scholarship is one I have invented established by the former headmaster of Hogwarts of that name. As hinted at in Sarah's conversation with Theodore at the dinner table, the questions on the test consist in general of things which only children from _very old magical families_ are supposed to know the answers to or have a chance to 'get right'. Sarah's best friend before coming to Hogwarts, Deborah Abasinger, is a witch however, and Deborah's mother is a witch from a long line of witches and wizards, and was able to carry out research on the sort of questions the papers asked, to help Sarah prepare in advance.

Juno Black and her fifteenth century guide are as far as I know my own inventions. Juno was a member of the famous Black 'pure-blood' family.

And it's in canon that, with the way that tests and exams are administered and marked in the magical world, scores of better than one hundred percent are possible. (Harry Potter wiki cites a third year muggle studies result of 320 percent for canon Hermione, for example.)

Dragon hunts, and senior Longbottoms having a privilege to call them are as far as I know things which do not exist in Harry Potter canon at the time of initial writing of this note (June, 2014), and something which I have invented for the purposes of this story to present an option which might appeal to a group of eleven year olds as an umbrella under which to informally affiliate themselves with one another. By way of defence of this artistic liberty, the Longbottoms are frequently portrayed in fanfiction as being an old and respected pure-blood family, and in at least film canon they're apparently 'good enough' for a daughter of the Black family (Callidora) to have married one (Harfang Longbottom), according to the Black family tree – and an old and respected family having odd traditions and privileges seems to me to be in keeping with the general flavour of the Harry Potter universe.

Whether or not calling a dragon hunt would be entirely effective in helping Sarah have an easier time of things is another matter altogether – but the first year Slytherins are eleven year olds, and sufficiently naïve/optimistic in most cases to hope/think/believe that it _might_.

As Sophie surmises, Theodore Nott is absolutely terrified of her (both his parents were Death Eaters, and his father died in Voldemort's service) and he's desperately hoping not to get on her bad side in case she decides to blast him to ash or something. (See the supplementary piece 'Little Teddy' for a bit more on Theodore Nott's perspective.)

Both the Slytherin and Ravenclaw first-years leave the feast early, because their respective heads of house want to explain some things to them, and then get them in bed early, to help prepare them for the week to come. Professor Sprout likes her first years to have fun, and so leaves them in the feast much longer, and Professor McGonagall is usually so busy doing 'deputy headmistress' things on sorting night, that simply leaving her first years in the feast for as long as possible suits her very well.

When Percy mentions the 'great projects' of Regulus Black, he only mentions the ones that he's consciously aware of on a day-to-day basis and associates with Regulus; Regulus did more for Hogwarts than just funding new glasshouses and refitting the dungeons.

The Slytherin house quarters of canon are assumed to have existed in the Saint Potter universe, but to have been removed from circulation as part of the dungeon refurbishment project. Regulus never liked that creepy window of the lake much, nor the thought that if it broke, everyone in the vicinity might very easily and very quickly drown. The new Slytherin quarters are subterranean, but well above lake level, and the old Slytherin house quarters (for now out of use) have been earmarked as possible visiting merperson accommodation.

For those interested in such things, the technical terms for the figure-columns in the Slytherin common room are (as far as I can make out) 'telamons' (male) and 'caryatids' (female). I almost used those actual terms in the text, but considered them words likely to be well outside of Sophie's experience.

Stucco is a type of plaster often used when decorative patterns are part of a room or building's design.

The section of the Slytherin common room consisting of the strip of baize cloth surrounded by a low brass rail is for duelling.

In canon Horace Slughorn is indicated to have a piano – and it's apparently something sufficiently important to him that he takes it with him, _even when he's portrayed as being on the run_. For the purposes of the Saint Potter universe, I've interpreted this as indicating that Professor Slughorn has something of an interest in music and is proficient with an instrument or two. The 'Dylan' that Professor Slughorn mentions is the (real life) musician, Bob Dylan, whose works he admires.

Saint Potter universe Horace Slughorn has a speech that he repeats on an annual basis to his new first years; unfortunately it's not a speech he considers suited for delivery to an audience containing muggle-borns (or The-Girl-Who-Lived) and so he's pretty much thrown it away and is improvising the after-dinner meeting with the first years in the common room. Since he's not sure what muggle-born first years might be concerned about or especially want to know, he has the 'questions' session before they move on to the dormitories.

Yes, the Saint Potter universe Hogwarts house-elves have several field-guns. It's a bit difficult to do field-gun running as a recreational activity without them, and they're one more potentially useful thing to have around in case, say, a small army should ever attack the school…

The Hogwarts houses of 1991 having 'initiation' proceedings is something that is not a part of canon, but it seemed to me to be something that would make sense occurring in the Hogwarts of the Saint Potter universe.

Professor Slughorn _knew_ that there were foreign students in the first year intake, so as a precaution had a set of notes prepared in advance in the primary language of _each_ of those for whom English was a second-language, which explained the transfiguration measures in place on the Slytherin girls' side of the dormitories. He doesn't want any possible misunderstanding among his students over the inadvisability of males straying into the girls' rooms.

For now Sophie's spider-plant has the name 'Herbert'. (Possibly from some joke involving 'herb'.)

For the record, whilst Sophie was enjoying her bath, Enid Featherstone came back with Kara, from sending Kara's owl, and found Daphne and Genevieve still squabbling over who got the second room down the corridor from the bathroom. Enid tossed a coin for them for it (best of three) and Genevieve lost. Although Genevieve could have taken the third room, she retired in a sulk, and instead occupied the room at the opposite end of the corridor to the bathrooms.

The unexpected parrot was sent by the journalist Rita Skeeter (hoping to get a long-term spy into the company of The-Girl-Who-Lived). It's been trained not to say or repeat anything except to Rita.

Regarding what has happened towards the end of this chapter in Hufflepuff, the Sorting Hat has put some pupils there this year on the basis that first and foremost they're highly loyal to their friends and families – but they have certain 'views', and one of the new intake (for the first time in most living memories) called another Hufflepuff a 'mudblood' as an intentional insult. And when you have a lot of fiercely loyal people in a confined space, once someone throws the first punch, things can escalate rather rapidly…

Nymphadora arrived on the scene _absolutely furious_ at the disturbance, (and outraged that most of the Hufflepuff prefects were by that point taking sides) and started conjuring jets of water everywhere to break things up. She also demonstrated what an angry metamorphmagus can look like.

* * *

><p>And thanks to all those who've been waiting patiently for this chapter.<p> 


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